


Forget Me, Not

by Sapphires_and_Gold



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Braime - Freeform, F/M, Jane Austen - Freeform, Sense and Sensibility - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-01-18 16:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21279593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sapphires_and_Gold/pseuds/Sapphires_and_Gold
Summary: An adaptation of Jane Austen'sSense and SensibilityThe first twelve chapters of this story were original posted as five days in my Fictober 2019 collectionPut Me Back Together.The rest will come - I hope to not keep you waiting overly long.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 72
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

*** 

The Stark Family had long been settled in the North. Winterfell, their estate, was large. And for many generations they had lived respectably, earning the good opinion of their neighbors. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ned Stark had no sons, only three daughters; one, product of his first marriage, who was of an age to be wed, and two others by his present lady. With luck, his daughters could beget sons during Ned’s life, and he might thereby amend the inheritance. In the meantime, the estate was entailed away to his cousin and best friend from childhood, Mr. Robert Baratheon who had improved on his already considerable wealth, in marriage. To him therefore the inheritance was not so really important as it was to Ned’s daughters.

Ned might reasonably hope to live many years and to save a considerable sum for his family should he pass before a male issue came. Regretfully, he passed within a year of inheriting Winterfell; and the sum of ten thousand dragons was all that remained for his family.

Robert was sent for as soon as Ned’s illness was known, and to him Ned recommended, with all the urgency which illness could command, the interest of Catelyn and the girls. Robert promised to do everything in his power to make them comfortable. Ned was made easy, and Robert had then time to consider how much precisely was in his power. 

***

No sooner was Ned’s funeral over, than Robert’s wife Cersei, without sending any notice of her intention, arrived with her child and their servants. No one could dispute her right to come; but the indelicacy of her conduct, and her ability to act with so little attention to the comfort of other people made things highly unpleasing. So acutely did Catelyn feel this ungracious behaviour that she would have quit the house immediately, had not the entreaty of her husband’s eldest girl induced her first to reflect on the propriety of going.

Brienne, this eldest daughter, possessed a strength of understanding, and coolness of judgment (according to her father, she had inherited these characteristics from her late mother, who had died in childbirth); these qualified her, though only nineteen, to be Catelyn’s counsellor and to counteract that eagerness of mind which otherwise could lead to imprudence. She had an excellent heart and was affectionate of disposition, but she knew how to govern her feelings, however strong, as evidenced in her disciplined pursuits - riding, archery, even fencing. Her father had supported these in acknowledgement of her departed mother’s interests. Her strength of character and ability to control her emotions was a skill that her stepmother and sisters had resolved never to learn. 

At sixteen, Sansa's abilities were, in some respects, equal to Brienne's. She was sensible and clever; but eager in everything. The resemblance between her and her mother was strikingly great. Brienne saw, with concern, that she and Catelyn encouraged each other now in the violence of their affliction. Brienne, too, was deeply afflicted; but still she could exert herself for propriety and could strive to rouse her stepmother to similar exertion, and encourage her to similar forbearance.

Arya, the youngest sister, was a good-humored, well-disposed girl; but as she had already imbibed a good deal of both Sansa’s romance and Brienne’s quiet guardedness, she was a bit wild and spent much time in trees. 

***

Cersei Baratheon now installed herself mistress of Winterfell; and the Stark women were degraded to the condition of visitors. As such, however, they were treated by her with quiet civility. Robert had resolved to make a gift of three thousand dragons for the girls as the measure of support he had promised Ned. But Cersei did not at all approve. To take three thousand dragons from the fortune of their dear boy would be akin to impoverishing him. She begged him to think again on the subject. Why was he to ruin himself, and their poor little Joffrey, by giving away all his money to strangers?

“It strikes me that they can want no money at all,” said she, “for they will have ten thousand dragons divided amongst them. If they marry, they will be sure of doing well - Sansa shall, at least - and if they do not, they may all live very comfortably together on the interest of ten thousand dragons."

“I believe you are right, my love; whatever I may give them occasionally will be of far greater assistance. It will certainly be much the best way. A present of fifty dragons, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money, and will, I think, be amply discharging my promise to Ned."

"To be sure it will. I am convinced within myself that Ned Stark had no idea of your giving them any money at all. Indeed, it would be very strange and unreasonable if he did. They will be much more able to give _you _something." In the end, Robert insisted that Catelyn and the girls stay on at Winterfell until they could find a suitable home; in doing so, he saw his promise as kept. 


	2. Chapter 2

***

They remained at Winterfell several months. Catelyn was impatient to be gone, and untiring in her inquiries for a suitable home in the neighborhood. But she could not find a situation that at once answered her notions of comfort and ease which also suited the budget as Brienne had laid out for them.

The contempt which she had early-on felt for Robert’s wife was very much increased by prolonged acquaintance with her character. Catelyn might have insisted on leaving sooner, Brienne’s prudence by damned, had not a particular circumstance arisen. That is, there was growing attachment between Brienne, and Cersei’s brother, a proud young man whose gentlemanly qualities were at first in question, though they improved upon acquaintance, who was introduced to their household soon after his sister's establishment at Winterfell, and who had since spent the majority of his time there; most of it was spent at Brienne’s side.

Some mothers might have encouraged the intimacy from motives of interest, for Mr. Lannister was the eldest son of a man who was very rich; and some might have repressed it from motives of prudence, for the whole of his fortune depended on the will of his father. But Catelyn was uninfluenced by either. She thought only of Brienne’s happiness. It was enough that he was honorable, that he had an affection for her stepdaughter, and that Brienne returned the partiality. 

Mr. Jaime Lannister was not recommended to their good opinion by any particular graces of person or address. He was handsome to be sure, but his manners required intimacy to make them pleasing. He was proud, yet almost too shy to do himself justice; but when his natural shyness was overcome - most obviously when he was not in the company of his sister, but most pronounced when he was with Brienne - his behavior gave every indication of an open, loyal heart. But he fitted neither by abilities nor disposition to answer the wishes of his father and sister, who longed to see him distinguished in the world. His father wished to interest him in political concerns. Cersei wished it likewise, though perhaps not so lofty as to take him away from her influence. But all of Jaime’s wishes centered in more earthly things. He spoke of farming as oft as he spoke of military pursuits. He preferred riding a horse to driving a barouche, and it had nothing to do with the knowledge of how fine a figure he cut whilst riding. 

Jaime had been staying several weeks in the house before he engaged much of Catelyn’s attention; she saw only that he was tall and quiet in the presence of others. He did not disturb the wretchedness of her mind. She was first called to observe and approve him farther quite by accident when the sharp strange sound of steel clashing in the garden caught her ear. When she made her way thence, she was surprised - not to see Brienne clad in breeches, or even to see her sparring with Cersei’s brother, but by Brienne’s smile - a sight she’d not seen in many moons. 

***

Catelyn now took pains to get acquainted with him. She speedily comprehended all his merits as well as his faults, but the persuasion of his regard for Brienne perhaps assisted in disregarding the latter; she felt assured of his worth: and even his reserve, which went against all her established ideas of what a young man's mien should be, was no longer uninteresting when she knew his heart to be warm toward her girl. She considered their attachment as certain, and looked forward to their marriage as rapidly approaching.

"In a few months, my dear Sansa." said she, "Brienne will, in all probability be settled for life. We shall miss her; but she will be happy."

"Perhaps," said Sansa, "I may consider it with some surprise. Mr. Lannister is very handsome and amiable, but yet there is something wanting. He would rather speak of horses and swordplay than anything approaching artistry. Though he admires Brienne's drawings very much, he admires as a lover, not as a connoisseur. To satisfy me, those characters must be united. Oh! mama, how spiritless was Mr. Lannister's manner in reading to us last night! I felt for my sister most severely. Brienne has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him. But it would have broken my heart, had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility.”

"Remember, my love, that you are not seventeen. It is yet too early in life to despair of such a happiness."

***

"What a pity it is, Brienne," said Sansa that evening, "that Mr. Lannister should have no taste for reading."

"No taste for reading!" replied Brienne, "He read himself the other night. It is true, he prefers other activities, and he is not a great reader - he confided in me that it… challenges him at times. But he has an innate simplicity of taste, which helps direct him. I hope, Sansa, you do not judge him for this. Indeed, I think you cannot now I’ve explained it. Promise me that you will be civil with him.”

Sansa hardly knew what to say. At length she replied: "Do not be offended, Brienne, if my praise of him is not in everything equal to your sense of his merits. I promise I have the highest opinion in the world of his honor.”

"Of his honor, no one can, I think, be in doubt,” Brienne said quickly, “He and I have been at times thrown a good deal together. I have heard his opinions and, upon the whole, I find him well-informed, his imagination lively, his observation just.” She took Sansa’s hands in hers. “You will agree that, at first sight, my own address is certainly not striking, and my person can hardly be called handsome, yet he has had occasion to call the expression of my eyes... uncommonly good.”

“Uncommonly good? Tell me he used those words again, and I shall indeed change my mind about my civility toward him.”

“No, indeed. He called them… he said they were astonishing… in their similarity to a flower - I’ve mislaid the name. But certainly that meets your demands? He has his pride, Sansa, but the general sweetness of his countenance is easily perceived.”

"When you tell me to love him as a brother, I shall indeed think him sweet, Brienne.”

Brienne started at this declaration. "I do not attempt to deny," said she, "that I think very highly of him—that I greatly esteem, that I like him."

"Esteem him! Like him! Cold-hearted Brienne! Oh! worse than cold-hearted! Ashamed of being otherwise. Use those words again, and I will leave the room this moment."

“Be assured that I meant no offense to your sensibilities by speaking so quietly of my own feelings. In truth, I never knew it could be this way. Believe my feelings to be stronger than I have declared. But farther than this you must not believe. In my heart I feel scarcely any doubt of his preference. But there are other points to be considered besides his inclination. He is far from being independent. His sister and father wish a great deal for him, and I am very much mistaken if Mr. Lannister is not himself aware that there would be many difficulties in his way, if he were to wish to marry a woman who had neither a great fortune nor a high rank, and not even agreeable looks."

Sansa was astonished to find how much the imagination of her mother and herself had outstripped the truth."And you really are not engaged to him!" said she. "Yet it certainly soon will happen. You are so alike, Brienne. You have the same affinity for activity and thought. Trust his feelings as you trust your own. The only thing I am glad for, in your not being promised to him yet, is that I will have greater opportunity to know him and be assured of your future felicity.”

Brienne could not consider her partiality for Jaime in so prosperous a state as Sansa and Catelyn had believed it. There was, at times, a want of spirits about him which, if it did not denote indifference, spoke of something almost as unpromising - some hesitation or doubt. She knew that his father neither opened his home to Jaime at present, nor gave him any assurance that he might form one for himself, without strictly attending to his wishes. With such a knowledge as this, it was impossible for Brienne to feel easy on the subject. The longer they were together the more doubtful seemed the nature of his regard; and sometimes, for a few painful minutes, she believed it to be no more than friendship. But then he would seemingly stumble across her in the library or in the gardens and in the next moment they’d be suiting up to spar. She flattered herself to judge that it was only when he was with her that he seemed truly at ease, and happy. His regard at those times seemed limitless.


	3. Chapter 3

***

But, whatever might really be its limits, it was enough, when perceived by his sister, to make her uneasy, and to increase her incivility. She took the first opportunity of confronting Catelyn Stark on the occasion, talking to her so expressively of her brother's great expectations, of Tywin Lannister's resolution that all his children should marry well, and of the danger attending any young woman who attempted to draw her brother in; Catelyn could neither pretend to be unconscious, nor endeavor to be calm. She gave Cersei an answer which marked her contempt, and then instantly left the room, resolving that, whatever might be the inconvenience or expense of so sudden a removal, her Brienne should not be exposed another week to such insinuations.

In this state of her spirits, a letter was delivered to her from the post, which contained a proposal particularly well-timed. It was the offer of a small house, on very easy terms, belonging to a cousin of hers, a gentleman of consequence and property in the Riverlands. The whole of his letter was written in so friendly a style as could not fail of giving pleasure to his cousin; more especially at a moment when she was suffering under the cold and unfeeling behavior of those she currently depended upon. 

She needed no time for deliberation or inquiry. Her resolution was formed as she read. The situation of Riverrun Park, in a county so far distant from the North as the Riverlands, which, but a few hours before, would have been a sufficient objection to outweigh every possible advantage belonging to the place, was now its first recommendation. She instantly wrote Edmure Tully her acknowledgment of his kindness, and her acceptance of his proposal; and then hastened to show both letters to her daughters, that she might be secure of their approbation before her answer was sent.

Brienne had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Winterfell. On that head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her stepmother's intention of removing into the Riverlands. The house as described by Mr. Tully, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought her any joy in her current state of uncertainty, she made no attempt to dissuade Catelyn from sending a letter of acquiescence.

***

No sooner was the letter dispatched, than Catelyn indulged herself in the pleasure of announcing to the Baratheons that she should inconvenience them for not much longer. Cersei said nothing; but her husband civilly hoped that she would not be settled far from Winterfell. She had great satisfaction in replying that she was going into the Riverlands.

Jaime turned hastily towards her, his voice full of surprise and concern, and repeated, "The Riverlands! Are you, indeed, going there? So far from hence! And to what part of it?" She explained the situation, describing Riverrun Park and its position along the Green Fork. She watched Jaime absorb the information and then turn his eyes to Brienne.

Catelyn concluded with a very kind invitation to Robert and Cersei to visit her. To Jaime she gave one with greater affection. To separate Jaime and Brienne was as far from being her object as ever; and she wished to show Cersei how totally she disregarded her disapprobation of the match.


	4. Chapter 4

***

The furniture was all sent ahead. It chiefly consisted of household linen, plate and china, with a handsome pianoforte of Sansa's. Cersei saw the packages depart with a sigh: she could not help feeling that as Catelyn’s income would be so trifling in comparison with their own, she should have any handsome article of furniture. Their man and one of two maids were sent off immediately into the Riverlands, to prepare the house for their mistress's arrival. 

Catelyn took the house for a twelvemonth. No difficulty arose on either side in the agreement; and she waited only for the disposal of her effects at Winterfell before she set off for the south; and this, as she was exceedingly rapid in the performance of everything that interested her, was soon done, though she dawdled for two days longer than necessary in order to give Jaime and Brienne more time together. 

They spent the majority of their afternoons walking the fields just beyond the garden away, by design, from Cersei’s prying. Brienne would have been contented with the library and gardens and their usual routine, but Jaime had insisted. There were still moments where he was all too quiet and Brienne was certain that he was preparing to clear the air with the secrets he was harboring, and make more firm his lack of regard for her. But in the next, he would be pressing her hand or smiling at her in that way he had only done before with foil flashing.

***

In a very few weeks from the day which brought Edmure Tully’s first letter to Winterfell, everything was so far settled in their future abode as to enable Catelyn and the girls to begin their journey.

Many were the tears shed by them in their last adieus to a place so much beloved. "Dear, dear Winterfell!" said Sansa, as she wandered alone before the house, on the last evening of their being there; "when shall I cease to regret you!—And who will remain to enjoy you?"

That same eve, Brienne went to the stables to visit to her favorite mare, which Catelyn had sold to Robert when keeping her proved unnecessary and unsustainable for their new life. Brienne was brushing her when the door opened and Jaime appeared out of the darkness, his hair bright, catching the light of her lantern. His look was solemn, and Brienne wondered if the hour of his confession had finally come. But he smiled and pulled a small book from behind his back and offered it to her. 

She took it and studied the lettering on the spine, fingering the worn edges of the indigo cover in surprise. “This was my mother’s.”

“So you told me.”

She smiled, “You remembered.” He nodded sheepishly. “My father kept it in his study in the home I grew up in. When we moved here, he added it to the library thinking it would be kept in the family.” Jaime stepped forward and laid a hand on hers comfortingly, warm, “He used to read to me from it - stories of princesses and merfolk and knights… all of them with happy endings.” She stayed the tears forming in her eyes, and firmed her resolve. She slipped the book back into his hand. “Take it. Take it back. I wouldn’t want to lose track of it between now and morning. It belongs to your sister now.”

“Brienne…” he took her other hand and secured it around the book so that all four of their hands clasped it together. “It’s yours. It will always be yours. She won’t miss it. And even if she did, I would own it, for I was the one who took it. You’re leaving enough behind. I don’t wish for you to part with something so dear.” His hands were warm on hers and of them was trembling though she couldn’t tell if it were Jaime or herself or both. She nodded and he let go, his fingers whispering against the backs of her hands. “May I walk you back to the house?”

Brienne looked from him back to the mare whom she had abandoned on Jaime’s arrival. “I haven’t finished my goodbyes.” Jaime looked somewhat sad but he nodded understanding, and turned to go. “Jaime - “ he stopped and turned back to her, something shining in his eyes“ - we did not gather as usual after supper tonight.” She held out the book, “Will you read to me?” He grinned, a shadow of his usual smile, and took it. Then he sat on the stool by the door and slowly read her a well-traversed tale of knights and dragons while she worked until the horse’s coat shone. 


	5. Chapter 5

***

The next morning, Robert and Jaime saw the Stark women off. Cersei claimed a headache and stayed abed. Jaime handed each of the women into the hired carriage. He lifted Arya into it, setting the eight-year-old giggling; then Catelyn who kissed his cheek like an affectionate aunt; then Sansa who, grasped his shoulders dramatically and wished him well; and finally Brienne. He handed her into the carriage, and then she reached her arm out of the window so that he might shake it. Instead, while Robert engaged the others from the other side of the carriage, Jaime looked up at her sadly and pressed her hand harder than she expected, and brushed her knuckles with his lips. “Goodbye… Miss Stark.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Lannister.” 

He silently mouthed “Jaime” and she nodded before her hand retreated back into the carriage. He set a smile on his face - the kind he maintained in mixed company - and joined Robert on the opposite side of the carriage, and from there the two waved them off as the Stark women drove away from Winterfell. 

***

They would travel four days to reach Riverrun. On the third night they were stopped at an inn and Brienne was alone while her stepmother and sisters finished supper below. She drew the indigo book out of the reticule she kept on her person. The edges seemed more worn, more loved, than she remembered. She settled onto the bed to read one of her favorite passages when she noticed that something almost the color of the cover seemed to be tucked into the pages about a third of the way through the book. 

She carefully parted the pages to that spot and there, carefully pressed, was a cluster of five-pointed blue blossoms with yellow starbursts at the center of each. They marked in the book her favorite tale - that of Ser Galladon of Morne. And the blossoms themselves were the exact shade of her eyes. She’d been avoiding the truth when she told Sansa that she couldn’t recall the name of the flower Jaime had compared them to - she hadn’t wanted to inspire her sister’s romantic notions. But presented with them now, and in the privacy of her solitude, she could not deny her own notions. For if he’d meant to express indifference, why send her away with the book? And why press forget-me-nots between the pages?


	6. Chapter 6

***

The Miss Starks were made to feel very welcome on their arrival in the Riverlands. The neighborhood of Riverrun consisted of the Park, occupied by Lord Edmure and his family, a small village on the outskirts of which were one or two other fine manors, and Riverrun Cottage which lay within sight of the Park, along the banks of the Green Fork. The cottage was comfortable, if a bit drafty, and the manservant and housekeeper who’d been sent ahead had dusted and laid things out in such a way that the family would feel at home without it quite being Winterfell. Lord Edmure Tully had a serene countenance, though he tended toward the maudlin after dinner, and his wife was quiet and rarely seen for the Tullys had very small children and preferred to take charge of their rearing rather than handing them off to nursemaids and wet-nurses.

It was Lord Edmure’s uncle Ser Brynden, who insisted that everyone call him Blackfish, that was the most curious to the ladies. He was as tall as Brienne, but as broad as two of the Miss Starks standing shoulder to shoulder. His beard had once been black but was now streaked heavy with silver and white. An older gentleman who had fought plenty of battles in his day, he tended toward the eccentric but with a merry turn, and he was full of jokes for any occasion; his eccentricity, however, allowed for even his honored guests being the subject of those jokes.

Second to the Blackfish in curiosity was Lord Edmure’s oldest friend, Colonel Tyrion Casterly, who was staying with the family for the summer. If the Miss Starks were nothing like the Tullys, then Colonel Casterly (or Tyrion as he preferred to be called) was at the opposite end of that spectrum line. A small man - not attractive, but wise. He was witty where the Blackfish was vulgar, and he was quiet where the Blackfish was taken to a profusion of expression. It was no wonder that Lord Edmure felt uncertain of his own character after imbibing - he was so split in two ways. Tyrion’s address recommended him as it was particularly gentleman-like, and his and Lord Edmure’s stories of the most recent war kept Arya, if no one else, quite occupied. Tyrion did not always respond with rapture in the way the rest of the party might when discussing art or music, and therefore he did not appeal to Sansa as much as to the others, but he was still well-liked by all.

***

The Starks had been in the neighborhood but a fortnight when Sansa’s injury occurred. Arya’s version of the story tended toward exaggeration, but the truth of it was that Sansa had slipped and tumbled - her ankle was sprained and she sent Arya to go into the village for help. But when Arya started back up the hill, she was confronted by two vicious-looking hounds, and she had bounded back to Sansa’s side as if to shield her. Just then, the dogs’ owner had appeared and called them off. Ramsay Snow had swept Sansa up, placed her on his horse, and escorted her home. 

Ramsay and Sansa were inseparable after that, much to the Colonel’s silent chagrin. Mrs. Stark, sensing another attachment amongst her daughters, made her enquiries about Mr. Snow’s character with Lord Edmure and was told that he was a pleasant enough in company and was keen on raising dogs, but that he was not a resident of the Riverlands - his own estate, which was small, was in the Vale. He was only in this part of the country a few months out of the year as he hoped to inherit from his aunt, Lady Bolton of Drefort Hall. His standing did not keep Lord Edmure from inviting Ramsay on their picnics and excursions, and therefore Catelyn was not put off, and she saw no reason to discourage her daughter’s acquaintance with the young man. 

This was the season of happiness to Sansa. She and Ramsay seemed devoted to one another. Sansa and her mother basked in his charms, and Arya found a new playmate in his lively spirit, though she was wary of his dogs. Once he learned of Brienne’s favorite activities, he offered to spar with her, but Brienne had demurred more than once, claiming a standing appointment with the Blackfish. 

Brienne’s happiness during this time was not so great. She got on well enough with, if tolerated, the Tullys, and she enjoyed her time sparring with the skilled Blackfish, even if his egotism bordered on grating and his stories bordered on tedious. 

In Tyrion alone, of all her new acquaintances, did Brienne find a person who could in any degree claim the respect of wisdom, excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. Though they never spoke of it as a unit, their singular feelings of outsidership made them feel most comfortable together. Brienne’s compassion for him increased when she saw that he had eyes only for Sansa, for she had reason to suspect him to already be familiar with the misery of disappointed love, and in her sister he could hope for nothing else. 


	7. Chapter 7

***

As the weeks wore on, a reprisal of Tyrion’s disappointment seemed imminent. Sansa and Ramsay were always together, but soon small tokens and gifts were being exchanged. One day on the way to the sept, Arya informed Brienne that Ramsay now wore a locket containing Sansa’s hair on his person - that she had seen him cut the hair from her in their very parlor. 

Brienne had hesitated to confront her sister about the propriety of this until the day that the Colonel was suddenly called away from the Riverlands. His reason for going was unclear, but as it was brought on by the arrival of an express of King’s Landing, and as Ser Brynden had observed that the Colonel would likely be gone for some time, all in the party should have been compassionate; but on that day, Ramsay had expressed disdain at the now-absent Colonel for depriving them all of their picnic plans. Brienne stayed silent while in company, and then pulled Sansa aside after they had been deposited back at the cottage. 

If the lock of hair had been a surprise, what came next was a shock. Sansa disclosed to her sister than Ramsay had gifted her a horse. “Sansa!” cried Brienne, “We could not afford to keep the horses we had at Winterfell, what will we do with one here? We have no stable, barely a yard for grazing, barely enough money to feed ourselves!”

Sansa had clucked at her. “He’ll hold onto her until such a time as I no longer live here, Brienne. But Lady is mine. She led the curricle today when Ramsay and I rode to see Drefort Hall!” 

Ser Brynden had hinted at Sansa and Ramsay haven ridden somewhere, but Brienne had believed it to just be to the village, or through the park. The manor where Ramsay's aunt resided was nearly five miles away. “Drefort Hall! Sansa, I thought Ser Brynden was being impudent before, do you mean to say that you did indeed go there with Mr. Snow?"

“Why should you imagine, Brienne, that we did not go there? Ramsay is to inherit the estate from his aunt Walda. He had every right - and was the only one with the right - to show it to me.”

Brienne willed herself to calm, wishing she were in breeches with a tourney sword in her hand so that she might beat something and release the anger and disappointment she was now feeling toward her younger sister. If Catelyn were not so taken with such passions as her daughter, she might be better at curbing her. Alas, that had never been their mother's strength. “You should not have gone alone, Sansa. It was not proper to go with no one but Ramsay. Was the Lady even at home?”

Sansa rolled her eyes at her sister and skipped up to the door of the cottage, pausing on the stones to examine her boots, “I did not meet Lady Bolton, no. But it was a pleasant time, Brienne!”

“Pleasantness does not evince propriety, Sansa!”

“And what of your own propriety?” Sansa shot back, turning away from the cottage and stepping toward Brienne. “You and Jaime spent plenty of _pleasant _time alone, was that, too, improper?”

Brienne began to blush. It was true that she had likely spent as much time - if not more time - with Jaime as Sansa had now spent with Ramsay Snow, but neither of them would have opened themselves up to such embarrassment and censure as Sansa was now inviting. “Sansa, we never left the grounds. Mr. Lannister was everything proper - we walked the gardens, we sparred in the yard with a stableboy present, we read together in the library - we read to Arya stories of the North. Sansa, we never strayed from the sight of the house.”

“And what of that last night?” Sansa stared up at Brienne.

Brienne felt the breeze become a chill and she wrapped her arms about her, holding in warmth, but also protecting herself against her sister's suggestion. That last night, Jaime had come and found her. True, there had been no stableboy present with them, and they had not exactly been within sight of the house, but there had been nothing untoward about it. Brienne opened her mouth to respond, but Sansa was ready with her accusations.

“We did not sit together that last night. Cersei had claimed a headache at dinner, and the group dispersed - Arya barricaded herself in the library; my mother was crying herself to sleep in her room because Robert would not give up the study long enough for her to reminisce and grieve there; and I wandered the halls, saying goodbye to every chair rail, every tile, and then out of doors, to every tree. But I found neither you nor Jaime. And then late - very late - I saw the two of you from my bedchamber window - you were walking up the drive together, alone; I imagine that you, Brienne, could only have been doing things that were _excessively proper _.”

Brienne took a deep breath. “I was in the stables with Nymeria saying my own goodbyes. Mr. Lannister…” Brienne did not want to lie to her sister, but if she had told her then that Jaime had come because he had ‘missed their reading’ or something of that nature, Sansa would spot it for the untruth it was; still, she truth was perhaps too close to Sansa’s accusation. “Mr. Lannister brought a book and we read where we would disturb no one else. The time got away from us, to be sure, but there was nothing improper in it, Sansa. We may as well have been in the drawing room. He did not make love to me. He did not even suggest any impropriety. We just sat and read, and I brushed Nymeria knowing that her new owners would not be so loving.”

Sansa shook her head. “You could talk about it, you know. You could tell me about it - you could tell me anything!” cried Sansa. 

“There is nothing to tell! Not every relationship is the grand romance that you want it to be, Sansa. And Ja-- Mr. Lannister is not Mr. Snow.”

“Because Ramsay is not rich?”

“No! Sansa, you know that I do not believe that a person’s worth is in their purse. How could I? No, I only mean that Mr. Lannister never once acted improperly, unlike Mr. Snow when he chose to escort you to his aunt’s home, alone.”

“No,” said Sansa, “Jaime would never do anything so passionately; the more I think on him I believe he may be as stodgy as Colonel Casterly is ill and infirm.”

“Infirm!” cried Brienne, “Ill! The Colonel is not your mother’s age! How can you call him infirm!”

Sansa shrugged. “Brienne, on that subject of illness, I have another alarm where Jaime is regarded--" Brienne felt her heart lunge. She had been home during the day while her sister had not - surely there had been no letter, no cause for alarm--

"--I think he must not be well, for we have been here two months and yet he does not come. What can detain him at Winterfell?”

Brienne stilled. “Had you any idea of his coming so soon? I had none. I have not expected him.”

“Have you not? Was not his adieu to you somewhat less sedate than it was to myself and my mother? I thought I saw him press your hand, Brienne.”

“You are mistaken Sansa,” replied Brienne with a chill of both disappointment and anxiety running down her spine, “I have told you already - Mr. Lannister and I are friends. I have no other assurances of his regard nor,” she lied, “do I hope for them.”

Brienne spun and walked into the house and, taking a candle from the mantle, climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. She closed the door, set the candle down on the small bedside table, and curled up on the bed, on top of her blanket. Numbly she opened the drawer and removed the book that she had devotedly kept by her side these two months. She held it tightly to her chest as she fell asleep, as if doing so would alleviate the pain she felt there.


	8. Chapter 8

Mr. Snow’s tone when speaking of Colonel Casterly in company did not improve. To Brienne, he seemed crueler by the day, but Sansa was enamored with him, and so Brienne bit her tongue, taking her frustration out on a practice dummy whenever the Blackfish was unavailable. But when her sister's paramour eventually turned his biting tongue to their mother, Brienne did not hold back. 

They had been picnicking on the grass behind the cottage when Catelyn brought up her ideas for improvements to the house. She had spoken with Lord Edmure, and he had suggested that he bring a carpenter with him on his next call, that they might discuss her plans for the addition of a veranda at the back of the house, precisely where they sat just then. 

“That,” said Ramsay, picking at some cold chicken, “I could not allow. How could you make any changes to this house where we have all spent so many pleasant hours together.”

“Ramsay!” cried Mrs. Stark, “I mean to improve it - that we might elevate ourselves from the dirt and the beetles. Be patient with me, I’m still working out the particulars.”

“Patience,” he said quite firmly, “is not something I’m known for.”

“And what concern of it is yours, Mr. Snow?” Brienne was toying with the butter knife she’d been using at that moment. 

“Come, Brienne,” he said, “I though you of all people would understand - don’t you practice with your foil on this spot?” 

She could see the gleam in his eye and she knew that the use of both her given name and his diminishment of the type of blade she used were purposeful. She did not correct him, she only set the butter knife down pointedly. “I do most of my sparring at the Park, Mr. Snow, but there is plenty of flat land here, I needn’t have this particular strip of grass if our mother wishes to beautify her home.”

Ramsay muttered something then, and Sansa glared at him and started to speak, but then found herself on her feet, spinning with him in the grass as if nothing had been said. And though Catelyn had not heard his words, Brienne had. In any case, “She’s not actually your mother,” was only hurtful to Brienne. She wound up taking that out on a practice dummy with her sword early the next morning. 

***

The following week, approximately four into their acquaintance with Mr. Snow, Sansa asked to stay back from a visit to the Park. Catelyn, believing that they were to expect the heralding of wedding bells on their return, gave her leave to remain. But when they arrived, Ramsay’s curricle was parked at the door and his menacing hounds were guarding it. 

Catelyn, unable to think the worst of him, cited a want of privacy. But Brienne felt the risk in their waiting too great. She aided Arya in climbing through a window, into the kitchen. Moments later, there was a shout, and Ramsay ran out through the door with Arya at his back, swinging a fire poker. 

“What is the meaning of this, Arya?!” Catelyn moved to make her apologies to Ramsay, but one of his dogs stood between them growling. He called the dogs off and made to appease Catelyn, saying that he’d done nothing. Arya whispered to Brienne that Sansa had been crying, and so while Arya stood beside her mother, grasping the fire poker, Brienne ran inside to see to her sister. 

She found Sansa tugging the shoulder of her dress up into place from whence, she told Brienne, it had slid when she had gathered the sleeve to wipe her eyes in lieu of a handkerchief. “What has happened, Sansa?” she asked in disbelief, “has he done something? Did he hurt you?” Sansa studied the cuff of her sleeve and then looked up at Brienne. “You must be happy now. You don’t like him - you never did - and now he will leave us. Finally you and your propriety will have the run of the household again.” And with that, Sansa spun and climbed the stairs, ignoring Brienne’s calls. 

Catelyn and Arya joined her in the hall shortly as the sounds of Ramsay’s cart grew more distant. Catelyn, after removing her bonnet and gloves, explains that he had to take his leave quite abruptly - that Lady Bolton was sending him on business to King’s Landing and that he did not know when he might return. “Possibly there is more to the tale,” Catelyn suggested, sitting down in the drawing room after confiscating the poker and sending Arya to bed without dinner. “Perhaps Lady Bolton does not approve of Sansa. Or perhaps they quarreled, though that is unlikely.” 

But Brienne’s unease was at least equal to Arya’s. She thought of what had just passed with anxiety and distrust. “I do not like this - our acquaintance are quickly diminishing - first Colonel Casterly is suddenly called to town, and now Mr. Snow is sent there?” 

“Brienne one can have naught to do with the other. How incomprehensible are your feelings! You had rather take evil upon credit than good. What is it you suspect Ramsay of?”

“I can hardly tell you, myself.”

“Perhaps they are engaged. Perhaps - perhaps Ramsay came to propose but because of Lady Bolton’s feelings it must be kept secret.”

“Engaged!” Brienne cried in shock, “No indeed. I confess his behavior to her this last fortnight points to an attachment - proper or not - but his manner, and her mien on our return this evening… Sansa was silent on the subject, she only said that he was leaving. No, if they were engaged, Sansa would have at least told us. I do not think she would have taken herself above stairs without at least telling you of her joy, even if it must be hidden.”

“I require no such proof and Ramsay does not deserve your suspicion, Brienne.” Catelyn took herself to her room, leaving Brienne to coordinate dinner with the servants.

When Sansa rejoined Brienne and Catelyn at dinner time, her eyes were red and swollen, and it seemed as if her tears were even then restrained with difficulty. Her family steered clear of any subject which might alarm her oppressed spirits. 

***

A week after Ramsay’s departure, Sansa was prevailed on to join her sisters in their exercise as they walked along the banks of the river. Sansa walked far ahead of Brienne and Arya but eventually Brienne tired of the continued seclusion and caught up to her, pulling her between herself and their sister. Together they climbed a hill along the road and on reaching the summit, they stopped to look around them, enjoying the prospect from a spot which they never happened to reach in any of their walks before. Amongst the objects in the scene they soon discovered an animated one; it was a man on horseback riding towards them up the road from the fork. In a few minutes they could distinguish him as a gentleman, and moments later Sansa rapturously exclaimed that it was Ramsay, and hastened to meet him. 

Brienne cried out, “Indeed Sansa, I think you are mistaken; the person is too tall for him and I do not see the dogs.”

“It is he!” cried Sansa, “I am sure he has come - I knew he would soon return!”

She walked eagerly as she spoke and Brienne, feeling certain that it was not Mr. Snow, quickened her pace and lengthened her stride in order to catch up with her sister and screen her from particularity. Sansa was 30 yards from the man when she looked again and abruptly turned around, her heart sinking within her, and found herself meeting Brienne’s arms. Brienne pulled her sister close, whispering unwanted comfort, and then took her by the shoulder and turned to walk her back toward the hill; but then Arya raised her voice to detain them, pointing behind them. Another voice, one which Brienne secretly knew as well as her own, seemed to call her name and then joined Arya’s in begging them to stop. 

Brienne looked over her shoulder and froze, her fingers digging into Sansa’s arm. Her sister, with a mood wholly changed, spun around with surprise and then broke from Brienne and ran up the road to welcome the unmistakable figure of Jaime Lannister.


	9. Chapter 9

He was the only person in the world who could at that moment be forgiven for not being Ramsay Snow; for though Sansa bemoaned Brienne’s propriety, the importance of her sister’s happiness far outweighed that in Sansa’s estimation, and so she sought to show Jaime the utmost cordiality, greeting him with even more warmth of regard than Brienne herself. 

But in Jaime there was a deficiency of all that a lover ought to look and say - Brienne was cognizant of it, and had no doubt that Sansa was as well, and so Brienne carried on as if naught was the matter. Yet her sister saw and listened with increasing surprise. She almost began to feel a dislike of Jaime when she called to mind Ramsay’s attentions and how his manners were so striking in contrast to those of this brother elect. 

Sansa tried even involving Arya in pushing Jaime and Brienne to walk together back towards the cottage, but Brienne and Arya both would always lead the discussion back onto group subjects saying “Mr. Lannister when were you last at Winterfell, you know we all loved it there at this time of year” (“I have not yet been there since the leaves have begun to turn but I am sure it is beautiful.”), and “Jaime, how long have you been traveling, are you hungry? (“Miss Arya I have not dined since yesterday - I could really eat something.”), and “Sansa we must show Mr. Lannister the godswood at Riverrun Park and let him tell whether it is not unlike that of Winterfell.” But on the latter, Jaime begged off - “I’m afraid,” said he, “that my father and Ser Brynden have some history which I do not wish to dredge up for the man on whose land I shall be visiting. I am glad to be seeing the Miss Starks, but I would not wish to impose my presence on any of the Tullys.”

Catelyn was surprised only for a moment at seeing Jaime, for his coming to Riverrun was, in her opinion, of all things the most natural. He received the kindest welcome from her; and his shy, if cold, reserve could not stand against such reception. His affections seemed to reanimate towards them all then, and his interest in their welfare became perceptible. But he was still out of spirits, which Catelyn attributed to some want of liberality in his father. 

“What are Lord Lannister’s views for you at the present, Jaime,” said she when dinner was over and they had gathered close to the fire, “are you still to pursue a life in law or politics despite yourself?”

“No, thank the gods, I think I’ve now impressed on my father that his vision for me does not suit. Not that I’m any closer to the living I want, but still.”

“What of the living you’re owed by birth?”

“It’s not mine, Mrs. Stark - I have an elder brother who was meant to inherit - unfortunately he and my father have never gotten along; they had a falling out many years ago when I was rather young and my father disowned him. As much as I would appreciate a living, until my father makes peace with my brother, I shall not accept it. My brother thinks me a fool, but who are we if not our morals? And so you see, it is my own fault that I must rely on my sister and my generous friends - please do not pity me for that.”

“It is an honorable choice, Mr. Lannister.” Brienne thought she saw him return the sentiment to her with the quietest spark in his eyes, but then he turned back toward the fire. “Not all choices can be so, Miss Stark. But in this one I have confidence.”

“Honorable!” cried Sansa, “You should take it and then it will be yours to distribute. You will have an opportunity to help your brother then!”

Brienne glared at her sister, and Sansa returned it twofold.

“Nay,” said Jaime, “I do not want the privilege of it. There is too much notoriety in it. I have only ever wanted a quiet life. Being warden of the West holds no interest for me. I’ve made mistakes in my life, most of which I would hope will never be familiar to those whom I call friends, but please believe that I am not suited to the responsibility. It comes at too high a cost to my sensibilities.”

“I wish that someone would give _me _a large fortune,” said Arya from her forgotten corner. 

Jaime seemed to lighten up at this, “And what would you do with it, Miss Arya?”

“Sail!” she replied, without a second thought, “I want to see what is beyond the horizon.”

Jaime finally smiled at that. “Indeed, I think you would. Truly, I think I know what each of you might do if fortune so favored you.”

This was the liveliest Sansa had seen Jaime and she encouraged him - “Very well, tell mother’s first.”

“Oh, Sansa. I would be puzzled on how to spend a large fortune if my girls were already rich without my help.”

“You must begin improvements on the house,” nudged Brienne.

“Miss Stark is right,” came Jaime’s reply, quiet but gaining confidence, “I’m reminded of your notions over dinner. The changes you wished to make to the front parlor and the addition of a veranda at the back overlooking the valley - that would make for a very pretty prospect, I think, and I’m sure the masons and carpenters would charge you prettily for it. But ah, you’re such a generous spirit you might rejoice in letting them cheat you!”

“Oh Jaime,” cried Catelyn, giddy, “you have the right of it.” How nice, Catelyn thought, that where Ramsay had been firm in his vision of the cottage, Jaime thought was kind enough to embrace hers.

“Me next, Jaime.”

“Ah, Miss Sansa - I know your greatness of soul - what a happy day for booksellers and music-sellers it would be. You would purchase all of your favorites over and over to prevent them falling into unworthy hands, and you would have every book that told you how to admire a weirwood - should you not?” He was smiling now, “You see? I’ve not forgotten our old disputes over poetry.”

Sansa smiled back, “I love to be reminded of the past, Jaime. You will never offend me by talking of former times, particularly when I see how warm you are to those memories.” She said this last with a pointed look at Brienne, who looked at her hands. Sansa then entreated Jaime to predict her elder sister’s use of their fantastical fortune. 

Jaime turned to look at Brienne but then found himself looking into the fire. “Miss Stark would give a general commission to the printmakers, for every new print of merit be sent her, and when she should find one she dislikes, I think she would send to town for the finest brushes and pigments, and cover it until it was to her liking. And if any should question her preferences, she would challenge her critics and strike them down with her sword.”

Brienne felt herself coloring and could hear the smile in Jaime’s voice, though she avoided his glance, but Mrs. Stark laughed, “Do you call Brienne a perfectionist, Jaime! Or just proud?”

“Neither,” Jaime said, with a glance at Brienne’s hands, and finally shifting to meet her glance, “I would never do either. Miss Stark is discerning. And her tastes should guide the rest of the county. It would be only right for her to make better the inferior works. I would trust the decoration of my own home to no one else!”

Brienne felt a blush creep down her neck to her chest, and Jaime, seeing it, noticed his misstep immediately, and rose to fill his sherry glass. Thankfully, Arya was well on her way to distracting the others from his comment. 

“What care I for finery and fashion and painting, I shall be a pirate queen!”

Jaime chuckled while Mrs. Stark glared at her youngest. “Captain Arya,” he said from the sideboard, “I do believe of all the Miss Starks, you could not be dissuaded from your goal, regardless of your future fortunes.”

Brienne could see, with great uneasiness, the low spirits of her friend and the way that he avoided discussion of that which touched him most, and it kept her from a sound sleep. She attributed his strangeness to the demands of his family - specifically his father who, being wholly unknown to her, was a convenient door at which to lay blame. Though knowing Cersei did not make that action any less convenient. Had she been in her own room Brienne might have eventually slept well after assigning her friend’s behavior to a cause, but she had given her room up for their guest, and now Sansa’s eternally cold feet were pressed against her legs, mocking her while her sister snored. 


	10. Chapter 10

***

The following morning, Jaime joined the elder Miss Starks in the breakfast-room before the others were down; Sansa, eager to promote their happiness, soon left he and her sister to themselves. But no sooner had Brienne become aware of the door closing than Jaime was standing apologetically and exiting the room himself, claiming a need to check on his horse, and promising to return when Mrs. Stark was ready to dine. Brienne was left alone and no less concerned than the day before. 

When they did all sit to break their fast together Sansa, sitting beside Jaime, observed on his hand a ring with a plait of hair at its center. 

“Is that Cersei’s hair?” she enquired, knowing one to have been promised by their former hostess to her brother, “I would have thought the hair would be more golden in color, but that looks far paler.”

Jaime colored deeply and, giving a momentary glance at Brienne across the table, replied “Yes, it is my sister’s hair. The setting,” he muttered, “always casts a different shade on it you know.”

Brienne had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own she instantaneously felt as well satisfied as Sansa; the only difference in their conclusions was that what Sansa considered a free gift from her sister as she had done for Ramsay, Brienne was conscious must have been procured by some theft or contrivance unknown to herself. Brienne instantly began talking of something else, internally resolving henceforward to catch every opportunity of eyeing the hair and satisfying herself, beyond all doubt, that it was exactly the shade of her own. 

***

Jaime remained at the cottage a week. He walked with the sisters to the village every day, toured the river with Brienne and Sansa while Arya kept her mother company on the now-familiar hill with the fine prospect, and sparred with both Arya and Brienne, remarking on the former’s improved skill, and giving credit to the latter’s tutelage. 

Sparring was the only time that Brienne felt alone with Jaime - the only time she felt that she could be close to him without shying away. Even though they were in full view of everyone else, they moved around each other in a familiar dance and their foils sang to one another. Here they could tease each other in a way that, had they no swords in hand, would certainly have been called flirtation by an outside party. Here they were protected. It was the only place where one did not hesitate when their body brushed the other’s. And it was the only time that one touched the other purposely.

After several days of walking the unfamiliar picturesque landscapes and being among friends, Jaime’s spirits during the last two days of his visit were greatly improved, though still unequal to what a friend might call usual. He grew more and more partial to the house and its surroundings, and never spoke of going away without a sigh. 

On one occasion, Lord Edmure and his uncle came to call unexpectedly, and even then, despite the anticipated cold greeting from the Blackfish, Jaime seemed rather at ease. The old battle axe dismissed him out of hand for being his father’s son, but on his leave-taking he embraced Jaime’s arm as one might an old comrade. Jaime and Lord Edmure were on more stable ground. Edmure enquired after Jaime’s brother, and accepted the reply (he had seen him of late, and hoped he would be in better spirits soon). Edmure invited him to come and stay at the Park the next time his brother was of a mind to travel, and Jaime gave an assurance that he would, by the leave of his friends the Starks. 

What followed was a persistent state of half-cheerfulness which Jaime sustained through his own departure. When asked to whence he would travel, he indicated his decision to go to the North, saying that while neither King’s Landing nor Winterfell held much affection for him, his happier memories were in the North and so we would go to his sister; though he declared, with a nod to Catelyn, that his greatest happiness was with the Starks.


	11. Chapter 11

***

“I think,” said Catelyn at their breakfast that final morning, “that you would be happier if you had some employment to occupy your time, Jaime. I do not agree with your father, but you must allow that this idleness does not bring happiness.”

“That is true, Mrs. Stark. Yet I am not at liberty to choose my employment while my father quarrels with me. Perhaps one day he will allow me my independence but, until then, I must either hope for some windfall from a mystery benefactor,” he said this last with a wink to Arya, “or keep moving about the country until he gives up on landing me.”

“And should you one day have sons,” continued Catelyn, “they will be brought up to choose their own lives and occupations, and idleness would be discouraged?”

Jaime grew serious and quiet. “My dear Mrs. Stark, any of my children would be brought up to be as unlike my wretched self as possible. In feeling, in action, in condition, in every thing save perhaps my sense of justice.”

“You are a good man, Mr. Lannister,” Brienne insisted quietly, “pray do not abuse yourself so.”

Jaime’s mouth moved into a smile but it did not reach his eyes, and he did not look up. “You have always thought the best of me, Miss Stark, and set me to rights like one of your drawings. Would that you and your family were still in Winterfell, you might all comfort me through my sister’s intemperateness.”

This desponding turn of mind gave additional pain to them all in parting, which shortly took place, and left an uncomfortable impression on Brienne’s feelings especially, which required some trouble and time to subdue. 

Jaime took his departure with as much ease as he could manage. Mrs. Stark embraced him and wished him a safe journey, securing his promise to visit again before the spring with a kerchief to her eyes as if he were going off to war and not to his sister’s manor. Arya bounded up to him from across the yard and he embraced the girl with affection. Sansa, determined to show what Brienne would not, stayed close and spoke up to him as he settled on his horse. 

Brienne, for her part, was determined not to repeat Sansa’s mortifying show of distress of a fortnight past, and to prevent herself from appearing to suffer more than any of the other women. 

Jaime waved his goodbyes, sparing the slightest hesitation when his eyes met Brienne's, and then rode away. Catelyn and Sansa went inside right away with some occupation or another, but Arya begged Brienne to stay awhile and watch until Jaime met the road. He did turn around once, as if looking back on a prospect that he regretted losing sight of, but he did not wave again, and he did not turn his horse and return, and Brienne did not weep.

Afterward, she busied herself, neither seeking nor avoiding mention of his name, appearing to interest herself almost as much as ever in the general concerns of the family, and if, by this conduct, she did not lessen her own grief, it was at least prevented from unnecessary increase. She did not push for solitude, nor did she, on regaining her room from their guest, lie awake the whole night to indulge in meditation, even if an aspect of him seemed to linger still in the air there. In the morning, in a state of half-sleep, Brienne would put her hand to the side table knowing that he had placed his hand there as well, but she found that once awake if she pushed those concerns away, she could instead be afforded leisure enough to think of Jaime and of his behavior in between her doings. 

And if, in the days that followed, she undertook a task which enforced her solitude, it was not looked on strangely when she dedicated herself to it. Then, her mind was invariably at liberty and could not be chained in conversation or elsewhere; instead, she had leave to meditate on the past and future, on a subject so interesting before her, which engrossed her memory, her reflection, and her fancy.

***

Not many days after Jaime left, the Tullys arrived on the cottage doorstep with four strangers. Brienne was alone in the house at the time, and it disrupted her solitude but they were not completely unwelcome. 

Ser Brynden introduced his daughter Lysa, Lord Edmure’s sister. A pale, stark woman with a severe nose, Lysa was strangely effusive; she is her father’s daughter in looks and, like him, hers bely her personality. She had arrived the evening before at Riverrun Park with her husband Lord John Arryn, passing through on the way home to Aerie Lodge in the Vale. They had, for the last few days, been in King’s Landing - Lord Jon seeing to matters of business, and Lady Lysa seeing to a doctor who would care for her in her confinement come spring. 

At the mention of this, Ser Brynden had remarked that Lysa should perhaps have made the doctor come to her and saved herself a tiring journey, but Lysa had no interest in being parted from her husband - where he went, so did she. 

Lord Jon, for his part, said little and even less in between, but he shook Brienne’s hand and commented on the attractiveness of the cottage’s front parlor. 

The third person with them is introduced as Lord Arryn’s cousin Mrs. Blackwood, a very pretty widow of thirty who lived in the Arryn home following the death of her husband some four or five years before, and with her is her young daughter who is tall for her age, at only seven almost of an age with Arya. 

When Mrs. Stark and her daughters returned to the house, they were welcomed with a parlor full of new friends, and little Dinah took to Arya immediately. Only Catelyn took at all to Lady Lysa, who was ready to pass on her father’s gossip about Ramsay Snow’s attentions to Sansa and congratulations for an engagement that had not materialized. It was not on this that she and Mrs. Stark found common ground, but on Lady Lysa’s upcoming joy. For her part, she was certain it was to be a boy; Catelyn had no experience in raising boys, but her advice was welcomed readily. 

Sansa was ill-disposed from the state of her spirits to be pleased with any of these guests, but perhaps especially Eliza Blackwood and her daughter. To the invariable coldness of her behavior, Brienne principally attributed that preference of herself and, for the young girl, Arya, which quickly became evident. 

And so it was that as Brienne’s solitude faded, Sansa’s was again elevated and made more prominent by the multitude of invitations to the Park which came to them daily for the next several days, most of which Sansa declined in favor of practicing her instrument alone in the empty cottage. Only on the first day did Sansa join them at the Park and, afterward, Brienne chided her sister for her silence in company, to which Sansa had upbraided her soundly once they were home. “I’m doing this for you,” she had said, “you have been so melancholy since Jaime left, that I thought having family with you would be kinder than leaving you to strangers, but perhaps I was wrong about that.”

Sansa declined to attend dinner with the guests for the remainder of their stay. 


	12. Chapter 12

***

“You will think my question an odd one, I dare say,” said Eliza on the fourth day of their residence, as they were walking together from the Park to the cottage with the younger girls playing ahead of them. “Do you know much of your mother? I believe Ser Brynden mentioned that she was from Tarth.”

“No,” returned Brienne, curious, “I know very little of her. Only that she was from Tarth, as you say, from a small family. My father told me that I resembled her a great deal, both in person and in temperament.”

“I am sure you think me strange for enquiring about her in such a way,” said Eliza, eyeing Brienne attentively, “but I had wondered if we might be related in some fashion. I hope you will do me the justice of believing that I do not mean to be impertinent or cause you discomfort.”

“Truly, I have no idea of any familial connection with Blackwoods or Arryns. Perhaps you should apply to your cousin - maybe he has histories that would better inform you. I wonder at your not applying to him first, as I am quite without any record from my mother’s life.”

“I think you _should _wonder… if I dared tell you all, Miss Stark, you would not be so much surprised.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brienne, pausing in the path. 

“As we could indeed be family… Miss Stark… Brienne. I wonder… I should wish to share something with you. I would not trouble your sisters or your cousins with this - it is a great secret which I wish kept among those whom I trust the most, and I understand you to be most honorable and trustworthy.”

“I know not by what device you have determined that aspect of my person, but I swear that whatever you wish to tell me - I may be depended upon to keep sacred.”

“Yes, I believe you can.” Eliza continued walking. “Brienne, you may well be surprised, for to be sure you could have no idea of it before… of our acquaintance here, only Lord Arryn and his wife know this, though Lysa does not know all.”

“I begin to think that may be for the best, Mrs. Blackwood,” said Brienne delicately. 

Eliza smiled wryly and continued. “Blackwood… was my grandmother’s maiden name. She hailed from the Stormlands, near Tarth, and as such - yes - perhaps I do have distant family relations I know naught of, but you are more likely to be one than is Lord Arryn.”

Brienne frowned. “I do not understand you. Lord Arryn--”

“--is not my cousin, Miss Stark. My late husband, Dinah’s father, was a cruel man, Brienne. What marks I do not bear on my person still scar my mind. After my daughter was born, he turned especially wicked. He had wanted a son, and I had denied him that. For three years then, I lived - we both did - in torment. He was a judge, Miss Stark, and the magistrates were in his pocket - there was almost no one I could turn to. I thought to run away, but if I took his only child with me, no doubt he would find me again and send me to an institution, or worse.”

“Gods… Eliza--”

“--when I was very young, my mother called me Ella. Eliza wasn’t a far jump. Brienne, my real name is Rhaella. Dinah’s given name is actually Daena. Lord Arryn though it best to keep hers similar as she was so young when we left.”

“Are you-- El--I’m sorry, I don’t know--”

“--Eliza, please. For the others--”

“Of course. Eliza,” Brienne said carefully, “are you... in hiding from your husband?”

“Not him. He no longer lives. We sought shelter from his family. The Targaryens are powerful, and I’m afraid not an empathetic people.”

“Targaryen… My father received a letter some three or four years ago from his barrister, advising him that a judge they knew had been killed in a duel - was that…?”

Eliza walked a few steps before answering, looking ahead at the girls playing. “Officially? Yes. Society respects that kind of death. It’s acceptable, even.”

“And… unofficially?”

“A friend stepped in. Someone who was astounded by the conditions we were living in and alarmed by the injury that my husband had caused. It had been his idea to run away, but I had told him no because I feared Aerys’ wrath. But then my husband started hurting Daena, and our friend could not bear it. It was he who challenged my husband. That was his mistake. In being the one challenged, Aerys was given the choosing of the weapon. Aerys always chose pistols.” Eliza’s voice faded as she collected herself. Brienne patiently walked beside her, moving a little closer to give the other woman some comfort. “He liked the way they sparked when they were fired. But his challenger - our friend - he’s better with a sword. I knew that Aerys might kill him, and then he’d likely hurt us again. Brienne… if I dare tell…”

Brienne stopped and took Eliza’s hands in hers. “Please do not fear. Your secrets you wish to tell, they are safe with me, Eliza.”

She was given a small smile in return. “They are not only mine to tell, Miss Stark. But I think _he _would - I _know _that he would take comfort in your confidence, that he does already.”

Brienne wracked her mind to imagine whom Eliza could be speaking of. “Who is he, Eliza - your friend - do you mean that I am acquainted with him?”

“Brienne, have you never observed the scarring on Mr. Lannister’s left hand?”

Lannister? Jaime Lannister was not so impulsive or actionable. Could she mean Lord Tywin? She knew that he had very specific ways, and it would not be absurd to think that he might have involved himself in this, but to have thought of Eliza’s well-being seemed strange - he did not seem the type of man to care about anyone outside of his family. Brienne’s eyebrows knit together. “I’m afraid I’m not acquainted with Lord Lannister. We have never met.”

“Oh, Lord Lannister got away from the incident unharmed. But I am speaking of _our friend _, Brienne. I speak of Mr. _Jaime _Lannister.”

What felt Brienne at that moment? Astonishment, that would have been as painful as it was strong, had not an immediate disbelief of the assertion attended it. She turned toward Eliza in amazement, unable to divine the reasoning of such a declaration, and though her complexion began to warm, she stood firm in incredulity and felt no danger an hysterical fit. “We cannot mean the same Jaime Lannister.”

“We can mean no other, Miss Stark. Mr. Jaime Lannister, the second son of Lord Tywin Lannister in Rains Court, and brother to Mrs. Robert Baratheon, is the person I mean; you must allow that _I _am not likely to be deceived as to the name of a man on whom our happiness has depended.”

Brienne felt her steps speeding, as if her legs meant to carry her away from knowledge of Jaime’s past, or perhaps present. “How… how came you to be acquainted with Mr. Lannister?” She slowed herself as best she could to allow Eliza to keep up with her.

“Lord Tywin Lannister was a barrister at one time - that is how he made his fortune - and he was an old acquaintance of my husband’s. The families were somewhat close once, but had grown apart prior to my marriage. The relationship between Aerys and Lord Tywin improved again after we’d been married about a year. Jaime and I were often at the same dinners and parties. He is godfather to my daughter.”

“It is strange,” replied Brienne in a most painful perplexity, “that I should never have heard him speak of you.” Something akin to jealousy seemed to be brewing in Brienne’s chest.

“Not so, considering our situation, and our continued need for concealment.”

“You said scars on his hand? I had not observed--”

“When next you see him, Miss Stark, find occasion to regard the center of his left hand. It is well healed, but the inconsistencies are obvious under examination. I owe much to Jaime Lannister, and he’s very fortunate that those scars are the only physical injury he sustained due to my foolishness.”

“But it is not foolish to be a victim of cruelty, Eliza.”

“I speak of my foolish actions. If anyone knew the truth--”

“Pray, Eliza, what do you mean I have heard so many truths just now.”

The other woman paused, as if estimating Brienne’s ability to endure what came next. “I do not think Mr. Lannister can be displeased when he knows I have trusted you, because I know he has the highest opinion in the world of you, Brienne, and he looks on the Miss Starks as superior sisters to his own. He trusts you above all others.”

Brienne swallowed hard. “I cannot vouch for his certainties - I am not personally acquainted with them.”

“Aren’t you?”

Brienne didn’t know what to make of that look in her companion’s eyes. 

“The morning of the challenge, I was there before the men arrived. Aerys chose pistols as I knew he would, and I knew that Jaime would not succeed against him. I hid myself behind a tree, near where Aerys would be. He and Mr. Lannister met, and then counted out their paces, and then Aerys - he cheated, Brienne. He turned before the count was up.”

Brienne froze. “And Jai--”

“--Brienne, I jumped then from behind the tree with Aerys’ own sword in my hand and I drove it as hard as I could through his back.”

“But you said--”

“--a gun went off - I didn’t know whose until Jaime came racing across the field and moved me away from the body - Aerys had gotten off a shot as he faltered, and it had gone clean through Jaime’s hand.”

Eliza was not only a someone whose history inspired empathy, but she was a savior of sorts as well - even if it had come at the cost of murdering a man who would have easily murdered others. How was one to compete with so many pitiable circumstances? “If what you say is true, then what of the others?” Brienne whispered. “There were witnesses?”

Eliza nodded, “Lord Arryn was there as Jaime’s second. And Lord Tywin was there as my husband’s.”

Brienne felt herself go cold, and gasped. “Lord Tywin would have stood against his own son?”

“If you knew Lord Tywin you might understand. He said he would have only stood if Lord Arryn had taken Jaime’s place, but...”

“Gods be good.” Brienne had known that Lord Lannister was a demanding sort of man, but this was beyond imagination.

“It was Jaime’s idea to take the credit for my husband’s death. Lord Arryn agreed to take Dae-- Dinah and I away, and Lord Tywin - he did what he could, using his influence to keep details out of the newspapers.”

“Is that why we’d never heard anything of it?”

Eliza nodded. “Lord Lannister managed to keep the more widely circulated papers from carrying it. But in King’s Landing it is well-known and still spoken of that Jaime Lannister killed Aerys Targaryen.”

Brienne felt her stomach turn, then looked to Eliza whose face was pale. “Mrs. Blackwood, I can’t imagine how hard it must be having done what you did - what you had to for your daughter.” And if she hadn’t, Brienne thought, she might never have met Jaime. 

“I have made my peace with it, Miss Stark. I know what lives were saved by it. But Mr. Lannister... he’s had to live with having to take the credit for it for the last four years. It takes a toll. He was so miserable when he left the Aerie last month, to go to you, that I thought you might think him ill. 

“He was in particularly low spirit, we thought, when he first arrived.” So perhaps it was not only the company that had caused his malaise. 

“And he is still now - he wrote me from Winterfell - his letters are always somewhat poor, but this one was low as well. I think his sister and father continue to try and push him to embrace the lie, but he hates that part of his life. He hates notariety.” Eliza held it out for Brienne to see, and she could tell that it was indeed Jaime’s hesitating scratchy penmanship. And she certainly concurred on her last point - Jaime had said as much himself. 

But to what lengths might he go to ensure his privacy now that Eliza might tell him that the history of his secrets had been extended to her? Would he stay away? Would he wish to see the Starks again at all? It was too much to comprehend. 

And then there was the matter of his correspondence with Mrs. Blackwood, of which Brienne had certain proof in front of her. It pointed to more familiarity between Jaime and the widow than Brienne had been willing to welcome knowledge of. Her heart sank within her, and she felt she could hardly stand; but exertion was indispensably necessary, and she struggled so resolutely against the oppression of her feelings, that her success was speedy and the for the time, complete. 

“Writing to each other,” said Eliza, unaware of Brienne’s turmoil, “is the only comfort we both have in our shared secrecy - that, and my daughter. But Jaime doesn’t get to see his godchild often now. I, at least, have _that _. I gave him a lock of her hair set in a ring when he was at the Aerie last in order to remind him of the blessings that his actions have wrought, and he said that it gave him more comfort than anything in the world - perhaps you saw it when he came here?”

“I did,” said Brienne, with composure of voice under which she concealed an emotion and distress beyond anything she had felt before - distress for Jaime’s privacy, for Rhaella and Daena’s enforced secrecy, and for herself - mortified and shocked at her foolishness. 

Fortunately for her, they had now reached the cottage and caught up to Arya and the younger girl with the pale yellow hair - far paler than Cersei's, as Sansa had correctly observed to Jaime. Eliza went to attend to her daughter, and Brienne was then at liberty to think and be wretched.


	13. Chapter 13

What Eliza Blackwood had asserted to be true Brienne could not, dared no longer doubt; supported as it was on every side by such probabilities and proofs, and contradicted by nothing but her own wishes. She could have applied to Lord Arryn for confirmation, but she would not have Eliza think her false in her promised confidence. The desperate woman had murdered a man - evil as he was - and in doing so had put Jaime deeply in her debt. Had not the sum of his responsibilities as godfather to the fairer woman’s daughter dedicated him already to their interests, this would have done so.

That this dedication must remain so secret in some ways must surely have weighed on him, explaining in part what had come to pass in the course of her acquaintance with him. Jaime’s melancholy state of mind, his dissatisfaction at his own prospects, his uncertain behavior to herself, the intimate knowledge of Mrs. Blackwood as to Winterfell and their family connections, the letter, the ring, the book, it formed altogether such a body of evidence, as overcame every fear of her understanding him unfairly.

Her resentment of what she perceived to be his ill treatment of her, for a short time made her feel only for herself; but other ideas, other considerations, soon arose. Had Jaime intentionally deceived her by showing feelings which he then committed in writing to another? Had he been stirred to challenge the deceased for some motive other than justice, and then to take the blame out of some drive other than honor? Was he now encouraged by the other woman’s charms? Was his connection to her one of the heart? 

No, whatever his attachment to Eliza had once been once, Brienne could not believe it such at present. His affection was all her own. Her mother, sisters, Cersei, all had been conscious of his regard for her at Winterfell; it was not an illusion of her own vanity. And the book - only he could have bestowed the blossoms there, and their placement seemed now to signify his guilt in showing her more attention than he had a right to, his promise already apparently settled with another. No other motive she could conceive matched with his actions toward her.

She believed his feelings, if not his intentions, to have been true, no matter what hopes or promises Eliza might have in her connection with him. And if he had injured her in feeling without intent, how much more had he injured himself? If her case were pitiable, his was hopeless. She might in time regain tranquility; but he, what had he to look forward to? Could he be tolerably happy with Eliza and her daughter, living out their lives in secret and amongst false cousins, knowing that he felt so for another? 

Surely this matter of Mrs. Blackwood's husband had been at the center of Lord Lannister’s urgings. Surely he wished for Jaime to embrace his fame and make some equally extravagant match of it, and keep the Lannister name in relevance. Surely this was why Jaime had been so reluctant to accept the living - no matter his brother’s feelings - he did not want ownership of it if it left Eliza and Dinah in the Vale.

As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she sought out her shirt and breeches and took her practice with a dummy, the heavy thwacks of her practice sword beating away, in the cold sunrise, her inclination to weep.

The necessity of concealing from Sansa and her mother what had been entrusted in confidence to herself, though it obliged her to unceasing exertion, was no aggravation of Brienne’s distress. On the contrary, it was a relief to be spared the communication of that which might give such affliction to them, and to be likewise saved from hearing any condemnation from them of the man whose honor likely exceeded any of their understanding, and which would be more than she felt equal to support. Their conversation would render her no assistance; their tenderness and sorrow would only feed her distress and her uncertainty.

As it was, much as she had suffered from her first conversation with Eliza on the subject, she still wanted to hear more particulars of their understanding and wanted to more clearly assess what the one really felt for the other, and whether Eliza had any particular regard for him which might then reflect either on Jaime’s further guilt, or provoke all the more sympathy for him.

The Arryns had extended their stay a few days, and one evening, while the rest of the group had seated themselves to cards, Brienne took the opportunity to join Mrs. Blackwood at her task of weaving a small basket for little Dinah to use at their picnic the following day. In a firm, though naturally cautious tone, Brienne entreated Eliza to raise the subject of “their friend” once more. 

“I am very glad to hear you speak of him, Miss Tarth. The terms of our livelihood are so delicate and I am afraid Lady Arryn does not make for a very sympathetic conversationalist.”

“Indeed,” began Brienne, “I can easily believe that it was a great relief to you, to acknowledge your situation to me, and be assured that you shall never have reason to repent it.”

“I could never repent having you as my friend, Brienne. Jaime assured me as much.”

The sound of his name at the other woman’s lips stirred the fog of Brienne’s jealousy, but she would see a path through it. “Mr. Lannister, it seems, is suffering his own misfortunes.”

“Oh!” said the widow with surprise, “Have you had word from him?”

“I?" Brienne startled, unsure whether to take the woman's words as earnest or jealous, "No, I - you received word of him at Winterfell and showed me the letter.”

“Oh, but that came to us when we were still in town, a week ago or more. I thought perhaps he would have written to you since.”

“Mr. Lannister has never written _here_.” Brienne’s confused pride kept her from saying _to me_. “When do you expect to see him next?”

“Oh, I never know. I think you know he is at odds with most of his family now… things being as they are. I think we - he will be adrift until he is able to reconcile things between his father and brother.”

It may have been a trick of the light, but Brienne would swear that the woman had colored slightly before turning back to her occupation. “And do you believe he will succeed in that?”

Eliza set her work down and turned to face Brienne fully. “I feel that he must, Miss Tarth. The feelings of too many have felt the strain in that family; our bonds have stood the trials so well that it would be unpardonable to doubt it now. I can safely say that Jaime has never given me a moment’s alarm on that account from the first. He is steadfast and determined, and I think he will prevail.”

Brienne hardly knew whether to smile or sigh at this assertion. 

“And what do you think will be the resolution, then?”

“So long as we are able to go on and be happy, any outcome of that is welcome. Whether the favor lies with either brother, we will manage. Jaime wants for so little - a parcel of land and a meager living would make any natural soul happy, but do you not believe it would cheer Jaime most of all?”

“I shall hope that all involved may get what happiness they deserve when all is said and done.”

“Indeed, Brienne,” she said, taking up their hands together, “I believe that love will win out. I truly believe that we will all be happy when all is said and done.”

Brienne only wished that their eyes toward happiness did not overlap so cruelly.


	14. Chapter 14

Though Ser Brynden was in the habit of spending a large portion throughout the year at Riverrun, and though he enjoyed the months spent in the company of his children and their families, he had already given most of the management of the estate to his son; in the winter, he was then free to move about the country or to go directly to town where he enjoyed the liveliness of the city. The mid-winter balls were always a source of enjoyment for him and there were many ladies of his advanced age with whom he could enjoy dancing and conversation, but he especially appreciated the tranquility of the social clubs of King’s Landing, and the company of like-minded men in his circle with whom he could discuss in depth anything ranging from the wars across the sea to the idle gossip of the moment. 

Towards this home, following the winter holidays, he began to turn his thoughts. Lysa and her family were to join him there in a few weeks and stay through her confinement, but he saw an opportunity to bring some change into the lives of his newer acquaintances, and so unexpectedly asked the elder Miss Starks to accompany the party. 

Brienne, innately knowledgeable of Sansa’s desire to seek out at least one person who had last been seen going in that direction, and not wanting to leave Catelyn and Arya alone for the winter, immediately gave a grateful but absolute denial for both. She was aware that spending even more time in the company of one who claimed closer ties to Jaime than she might help satisfy the curiosity that continued to needle at her, but she could not rightly put her desire for answers ahead of the others; if she was meant to know, all would out eventually, and she would simply need to bear the pain of patience. The Blackfish, having already consulted Catelyn on the matter, received their refusal with some surprise, and immediately with no patience of his own insisted on his satisfaction. 

“Your mother,” said he, wine in hand, “will certainly spare you; we three and a servant will be able to go very well in my chaise and when we are in town, you shall have either myself or Lysa or Jon to accompany you, or Eliza though she does not generally care to venture out of doors in town - yet perhaps you may convince her. And if after a few weeks in wider company we don’t get one of you at least to fall in love with some fool or other, it shall not be my fault for I shall speak a good word for you to all the young men at the clubs, you may depend upon it.”

Sensing Sansa’s agreement to the plot, he addressed her directly, “Come, Miss Sansa, let us strike hands upon the bargain, and if Miss Stark will change her mind by and bye, why so much the better.”

Sansa thanked him sincerely then turned her woeful eyes on Brienne who was, when confronted with that, incapable of denying her. Catelyn naturally had already been persuaded that such an exertion would be productive and would not have heard of them declining on her account. Brienne was overruled, Catelyn believing her objections of concern for her and their youngest sister to be nonsensical. 

“You will have pleasure being in town together,” she said to Sansa, “and if Brienne were to ever condescend to anticipate enjoyment, she would foresee it there from a variety of sources; she would expect some for instance from improving her acquaintance with her sister-in-law’s family.”

At this, Brienne had burnt crimson. She had often wished for an opportunity of attempting to weaken Catelyn’s dependance on the attachment of Jaime to herself, and now she forced herself to begin her design by saying, as calmly as she could, “I like Jaime Lannister very much and shall always be glad to see him; but as to the rest of the family, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me, whether I am ever known to them or not.” This falsehood was two-fold of course, for not only would Brienne have wished to be included among that family, but she would have Lord Tywin know her name, as a person who most resented his presenting himself as an alternate when Jaime had challenged Aerys Targaryen.

But to her demurring, Catelyn smiled and said nothing. Sansa lifted her eyes in astonishment, and Brienne conjectured that she might as well have held her tongue. She then submitted to the arrangement which counteracted her wishes with less reluctance than she had expected to feel. Sansa’s joy was almost a degree beyond happiness, so palpable was the perturbation of her spirits and her impatience to be gone. Their departure would take place in the third week of January, before winter in the country made the roads to difficult, and the Arryns would follow shortly thereafter from the more temperate climes of the Vale. 

Brienne considered all that must be left behind for the season and, at the last moment, packed her mother’s book - the dried blooms which belied Jaime’s feelings for her still within - at the bottom of her valise. At the very least, in the face of all the frustrations laid at her door, she would have that comfort.


	15. Chapter 15

They were three days on their journey, and Sansa’s behavior as they traveled was less than desirable, speaking up only to remark on any particularly pretty prospect they might pass, her thoughts flying ahead of their little caravan. Brienne, therefore, was forced to assign herself the post of civility, engaging Ser Brynden, talking with him of the sights, and laughing at his stories. Gradually Brienne lost her initial discomfort, but she remained guarded, allowing the Blackfish to regale a captive audience without expectation of her own performance. 

As they passed through the city gates at midday on the third day, Brienne’s discomfort seeped in again, as if the shadow of some great winged beast of ages past had cast a shadow on her view. Though it was unlikely that they would run in the same circles, she was at this moment closer to Lord Lannister, Jaime’s father, than she had ever imagined she would find herself. She prayed that there would be no reason for their paths to cross, for her knowledge of the man’s misdeeds threatened to sabotage her self-control. 

Ser Brynden’s townhouse was handsomely fitted up, and the ladies were immediately put in possession of a very comfortable apartment. As supper would be some hours off and Ser Brynden had almost immediately on their arrival stepped away on business, Brienne determined to employ the interval in writing to Catelyn. In a few moments, Sansa also sat down and began writing. “I was writing home already, Sansa,” said Brienne, “I can defer my letter a day or two if you would prefer to write to mother first.”

“I am not going to write to my mother,” replied Sansa hastily, as if wishing to avoid any farther inquiry. Brienne said no more; it immediately struck her that her sister must then be writing to Ramsay, and just as quickly concluded that they must therefore be engaged. This quick conviction, though not entirely satisfactory to Brienne, gave her the little pleasure of Sansa’s certainty. Sansa was finished in a very few minutes; in length, it could be no more than a note. Then she was up and ringing for the footman immediately. 

Sansa’s eagerness to be gone from Riverrun had assured Brienne of Ramsay’s being in town and therefore confirmed to her her sister’s knowledge of his whereabouts. Brienne had been resolved not only to mind Mr. Snow’s attentions and ascertain his motives, but to allow for the possibility, though unlikely, that she had misunderstood his character before, and to allow him more credit. If however, she could determine that his motives with regard to her sister were less than sanguine, she would not hesitate to confront him and open Sansa’s eyes; otherwise, she must then learn to avoid every selfish comparison and banish every regret which might lessen her satisfaction in Sansa’s happiness. Yet now Brienne found herself confronted with a hesitation in herself which would inhibit her ability to meet her sister’s pleasure for the rest of the day, and doubted her ability to be even-minded toward the man.

The tea-things were brought in sometime after Sansa had already been disappointed more than once by a knock at a neighboring door, or a carriage that neglected to pause before theirs. Just as Brienne sat back with her cup a loud knock finally resounded unmistakably at Ser Brynden’s threshold. Brienne felt secure of it announcing Mr. Snow’s approach, and Sansa started toward the door as if in synchrony with Brienne’s thoughts, seemingly ready to throw herself into his arms, when Colonel Casterly appeared. 

It was too great a shock for the girl to bear with calmness, and she left the room abruptly. Brienne was momentarily disappointed for her sister, and then for Tyrion when she saw that Sansa’s reaction to his arrival had not gone unnoticed. “Is your sister ill?” said he. Brienne answered in some mildly affected distress that she was, talking of the length of their journey, and every thing to which she could decently ascribe her sister’s rudeness. 

He heard her with the most earnest attention, and then recollected his manners and began speaking directly of his pleasure at seeing them in King’s Landing, making the customary inquiries about the friends they’d left behind. She offered him refreshment which he accepted, seeming pleased to return to their friendly custom of former times. He had been in King’s Landing almost ever since quitting Riverrun. “I have been once or twice in the Vale for the few days on business, but it has never been in my power to return to Riverrun,” he had intimated. 

Thinking of Jaime’s visit to the Arryns, Brienne wondered suddenly if he was acquainted with Tyrion. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak much of the Vale, Tyrion. Do you spend time there often?”

Tyrion began his reply when there was a commotion in the hall and the Blackfish appeared in the open doorway of the room. “Colonel!” cried he with great liberality, his usual noisy cheeriness perhaps a little more pronounced following his social club visit, “I am monstrous glad to see you. I could not come before, beg your pardon, you know one always has a world of little things to do after one has been away. But pray, how came you to conjure that I should be in town today?”

“Ah,” Tyrion set down his cup, “as I was about to enlighten Miss Stark, I had the pleasure of hearing it a Mr. Arryn’s where I have been dining.”

Of course, Tyrion would know the Arryns through Lord Edmure, Brienne thought, and given Jaime’s proximity to that family perhaps they were acquainted. But Brienne would not have an opportunity to raise the subject today. 

“Oh, and how is my daughter looking then? Well rounded, no doubt?” This, with a twinkle in his eye. 

Tyrion smiled politely, “Everyone appears to be in excellent health, Ser.”

“Aye, to be sure. I thought as much. Well, Colonel, I’ve brought two of the Miss Starks to town with me - the other is somewhere - but tell me where have you been since we parted? It was a shame you could not stay through the season.”

Tyrion’s eyes ticked toward Brienne who colored slightly, embarrassed by Ser Brynden’s insistence on laying out personal business in company. But Tyrion collected himself quickly, “I’m afraid there’s been much for me to attend to and,” reaching for his hat and rising with a grateful nod toward his interim hostess, “I’m afraid I must return to it but I promise you Ser not to be a stranger to this house or to your guests while you are here.”

“Capital!” cried the Blackfish with a satisfied grin. Tyrion took his apologetic leave of Brienne and then allowed Ser Brynden to escort him to the door. 

For not the first time that day, Brienne felt she had been left with more questions than answers.

* * *

Sansa rose the next morning with recovered spirits and happy looks. They had not finished breakfast before Lysa Arryn arrived, so delighted to see them all. She proposed that the ladies accompany her to some shops where she had business that morning. Sansa, though declining at first, was finally persuaded by Brienne to go, being reminded that they had never been to town, and should take the opportunity to see it. 

When they returned in the noon hour, no Ramsay nor any other visitor of interest had called. “How very odd,” Sansa said in a low and disappointed voice, as she turned her eyes back to the view of the street. 

How odd indeed, Brienne repeated within herself, regarding her sister with uneasiness. A physical foe would be no trouble for Brienne, but Ramsay’s invisible presence was pulling at Sansa’s heart in a way for which Brienne could not conjure an effective weapon. 

The following morning found Sansa in spirits again, happy in the mildness of the weather and still happier in her expectation of a frost. The cooler weather is bad for man’s sport, thought Brienne, perhaps Ramsay has been in the country and Sansa is imagining that the chill will draw him back to town. 

It would be quite cold at Winterfell now, her thoughts continued, wondering if the chill was a portent of that family’s arrival as well, for Robert and Cersei had never yet spent a winter in the North. She allowed herself to wonder briefly where Jaime might find himself given the season and then granted herself a momentary remembrance of being alone in the stables with him, the warmth of his hands on hers, and the warmth of his words. 

Colonel Casterly, who had a general invitation to the house, was with them for tea almost every day; he came, it seemed, mostly to talk with Brienne, who often derived more satisfaction from conversing with him than from any other daily occurrence. Tyrion was kind and interested in what she had to say in a way that no one, save for Jaime Lannister and perhaps Eliza Blackwood, a pairing she chose not to think of too often. She herself was not overly solicitous of Eliza’s company, as it made thoughts of Jaime difficult, but Tyrion’s company she enjoyed immensely. She took great pains to engage with him without pity, despite his sometimes-concerned and earnest glances toward her sister. 

A little more than a week after their arrival it finally became certain that Ramsay Snow had also arrived. His card was on the table when they came in from the morning’s drive. “Gods be good!” cried Sansa, “he has been here while we were out.” Brienne, glad at least to at last see some real happiness manifested in her sister’s countenance, and assured at least of Ramsay’s proximity, now ventured to reassure her sister that he would come again. But Sansa quickly quit the room with the precious card. How addictive it was to engage in the possibility of hope.

Sansa insisted on being left behind the next morning, anxious not to miss him again, which in turn made Brienne anxious about a possible reprisal of their last encounter at Riverrun, which had left her sister in tears. Brienne was unsettled through the whole of the morning, but when she and Mrs. Arryn came back to the house, but a glance at her sister was enough to inform her that no second visit and no reprisal had taken place. 

When the letters were brought in after dinner, Sansa nearly knocked the footman over looking for one with her name on it. “You expect a letter then?” asked Brienne, no longer able to be silent. “Yes, a little -- not much.”

Brienne sighed, frustrated. “You have no confidence in me, Sansa.” 

“No, Brienne.” And scoffed, “This reproach from you -- who have confidence in no one!”

“Me!” returned Brienne in some confusion, “indeed, Sansa, I have nothing to tell.” Save for other people’s secrets, she thought. 

“Nor I,” answered Sansa with energy, her cheeks almost as red as her hair, “Our situations then are alike. We have neither of us anything to tell; you, because you communicate nothing, and I, because I conceal nothing.”

Again she watched as her sister quit the room, distressed by this charge of reserve in herself, and still lost as to how yet press for greater openness in Sansa. She thought of writing to Catelyn right away, but remembered at once where the root of Sansa’s sensibilities lay, and told herself she would wait until tomorrow when she hoped she might be able to present for her mother a more even representation of what had passed, and not draw concern from the Riverlands. 

About the middle of the following day, Ser Brynden went out by himself on business and Brienne began her letter directly while Sansa, too restless for employment, walked from one window to the next, finally seating herself by the fire in melancholy meditation of the foot traffic below. 

Brienne was earnest but sensible in her application to their mother, suggesting that Catelyn write to Sansa alone and demand an account of her real situation with respect to Mr. Snow. Her letter was all but finished when a knock at the door announced a visitor, and Colonel Casterly was announced. Sansa, who had seen him from the window, and who now hated company of any kind that arrived in any shape other than the one she sought, left the room before he entered it. 

Tyrion looked graver than usual. He seemed pleased to find only Miss Stark present as if relieved not to encounter either the Blackfish or Sansa directly. After a pause of several minutes, their silence was broken by his asking her in a voice of some agitation when he was to congratulate her on the acquisition of a brother? Brienne was not prepared for such a question, and having no ready answer, was obliged to ask what he meant? He tried to smile as he replied, “Your sister’s engagement to Mr. Snow is very generally known.” The other man’s name sounded painful for him to speak. 

“It cannot be generally known,” returned Brienne, “for her own family does not know it. Tyrion,” she said familiarly, “who has told you such a thing?” He looked surprised. “I beg your pardon, I am afraid my inquiry has been impertinent. Their correspondence and impending nuptials are universally talked of.”

Brienne felt her blood begin to boil, a thin sheen of sweat gathering at the back of her neck. “Who is saying such things?”

Tyrion cleared his throat and looked up at Brienne, his parallel embarrassment and pity evident. “Many, Miss Stark. By some with whom you are most intimate -- Ser Brynden and his daughter Mrs. Arryn, and Mrs. Blackwood… and others with whom you do not claim an acquaintance.”

Brienne was stunned. Of course, the Blackfish in his folly would make mention of his suspicions to the family, but to who else? Who else was in his company at the club? Tyrion interrupted her thoughts. “I might not have believed it except when I arrived the servant happened to be carrying a letter addressed to Mr. Snow in a lady’s hand, and so I was convinced before I could even ask the question of you.”

Brienne stood as if to follow Sansa’s footsteps from the room, but stopped herself. Why hadn’t she put an end to this business sooner? Leaned into her suspicions? Tyrion addressing her from her elbow drew her from her thoughts, her name in his mouth almost sounding like her memory of another. “Miss Stark… Brienne… is everything finally settled? Is it impossible to--” he stopped himself. “I have no right and no chance of succeeding do I, Brienne?” He looked away, not waiting for an answer, and moved to collect his hat and umbrella from beside the sofa. “I believe I have been wrong in saying so much, but I hardly know what to do, and on your prudence, I have the strongest dependence and trust. Tell me that it is all resolved and that this secrecy is all that remains.”

Tyrion’s words and desperation seemed to avow to herself a love for her sister, and this affected Brienne very much. As she was at least convinced of Sansa’s affection for Ramsay and could leave no hope of the Colonel’s success, despite her own desire for her young sister’s betterment, she thought it most prudent and kind to acknowledge that, while she had been informed of the terms of the attachment by neither party, she had no doubt of their mutual affection, and confessed that she was unsurprised by their correspondence. 

Tyrion listened to her silently and, once she had composed herself and returned to her seat, he bowed his head and spoke: “To your sister, Miss Stark, I wish all imaginable happiness; to Mr. Snow, that he may endeavor to deserve her.”

With that he took his leave, abandoning Brienne to her thoughts. She derived no comfort from this conversation, nothing to lessen the unease in her mind. She set her cup down and stretched her fingers, her palm itching for the weight of a blade, that she might take this matter in hand herself, the best way she knew how. 


	16. Chapter 16

Nothing occurred in the next four days to make Brienne regret her letter to Catelyn, for Ramsay neither called nor wrote. At the end of so many days, they were engaged at the end of that time to accompany Ser Brynden to a party being held by an acquaintance in the garden district, a party for which Sansa, wholly dispirited and seemingly hardening herself against the world, prepared indifferently and without much care for her appearance. Lost in thought by the hearth, she startled when told that their hour of departure had swiftly come. 

They arrived in due time at the large house and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid polite tribute to the family, they were permitted to mingle with the crowd. Ser Brynden was called off immediately by his acquaintance to sit at cards, and as Sansa was not in spirits and they did not seem to know anyone else at the fete, she and Brienne looked for and luckily found seats along the wall, at no great distance from his table.

They had not remained in this manner long before Brienne perceived Ramsay Snow standing only a few yards in front of them, in earnest conversation with a young dark-haired lady, perhaps a year older than Sansa, otherwise unescorted, who Brienne thought somewhat familiar. She soon caught Ramsay’s eye, and he immediately nodded in the Miss Starks’ direction but did not move toward them, and continued his conversation. Brienne turned then involuntarily toward Sansa who at that moment first perceived him. Her whole countenance brightened at that moment as if a smoldering flame inside her had re-ignited, and she reached for Brienne’s hand for support. 

At last, he turned around again and approached. Sansa started up and pronounced his name in a tone approaching affection, though Brienne thought she could both hear and feel her hesitation, as that feeling was reflected neither in Ramsay’s expression nor his steely eyes as he addressed his pleasantries to Brienne. Yet Sansa would not be ignored.

“What is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Why have you not called?”

Brienne widened her eyes at Sansa but gave her attention back to Ramsay when he continued to address her. “I did myself the honor of calling at Ser Brynden’s home last Tuesday,” he said, “and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find anyone at home. My card was not lost by some foolish servant, I hope.” His smile, to Brienne, seemed guarded and became a proper sneer when Brienne instinctively stood taller against his words.

Sansa responded louder, “For heaven’s sake, Ramsay, what is the matter with--” Brienne squeezed her sister’s hand in silent admonition for so public a familiarity. 

He looked on the girl with something like pity, turned hastily with a slight bow, and re-joined his friend - the lady that Brienne was suddenly able to place in her mind. She was, or at the very least had once been, their neighbor in Wintertown before their father had inherited Winterfell. They had not seen Miss Jeyne Poole since they had quitted their childhood home. Neither she nor Ramsay turned their way again. With difficulty, Brienne prevented herself from following the man and persuaded herself to check her agitation, to wait at least with the appearance of composure until she might confront him with her wits about her. 

Sansa had turned inward; she was not outwardly flushed, neither was she consolable. In a short time, Brienne saw Ramsay quit the room, telling Sansa he was gone. Sansa straightened her shoulders and begged her sister would entreat Ser Brynden to take them home. Brienne stood, but before she could step toward the table she was blocked by their hostess, whose son was then seated at cards and drawing exclamations and good-natured egging from the Blackfish. 

The woman took in Brienne’s height admiringly and then turned to peer at Sansa. “You look unwell, my dear.” Sansa turned barely watery eyes to the older woman and attempted a smile, while Brienne responded, “You have an excellent house my lady, and we would prefer to enjoy the pleasure of your party but, as you have observed, my sister is uncomfortable and I was just seeking our cousin to escort us home.” The woman’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “I am not insulted, my dear. But let us leave the Blackfish to his game, for I believe he is about to swindle my foolish son out of a significant amount of coin, and I would not stop him for the world. I will summon my carriage for you.” 

Brienne was astonished at the woman’s candid offer. “That is very kind--” but her thanks were waved away. A sound emitted from Sansa at her elbow which might have been a laugh or a hiccup and earned an amused smile from Lady Olenna. “Go on and collect your things, and my man will meet you at the door. I’ll see that Ser Brynden makes it home eventually _ with _ my son’s money of course.” 

Brienne knew not what to say and could only restate her thanks, which seemed to irritate the lady more than anything. “It’s nothing my dears. If you’ll pardon an old lady’s saying so, that man Snow is a cad,” this, with an eyebrow raised in Sansa’s direction. “I am mortified that he would behave so rudely to any of my guests, let alone persons acquainted with him. Had I realized how unpleasant he was, I might not have let my grandchildren invite him.”

Sansa looked up finally. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I can assure you his actions only reflect poorly on himself, and not on your excellent home.”

Olenna reached for the girl’s hand with a smile and patted it. Brienne stood watching this interaction, immensely affected by the alteration of her sister’s demeanor and the unspoken pain behind it. 

Brienne’s own situation gained now in comparison; for while she could esteem Jaime as much as ever, however they might be divided in future, her feelings might always be supported, and without shame, for she knew the truth of him. 

That some sort of engagement between Sansa and Ramsay had subsisted, Brienne now had no doubt. That Ramsay was weary of it seemed equally clear, for however Sansa might try to suppress her distress now, Brienne could not attribute the man’s behavior to anything by malice, and her indignation toward him would be even stronger had she ever previously believed his motivations to be wholly pure. But to find her sister now stoic and calm was somehow more unnerving than her expectation of the girl’s sensibilities. She feared that this change in her sister would not be without its consequences. 

* * *

Before the housemaid had even lit their fire the next day, or the sun gained any power over the frosty morning, Sansa, only half-dressed, was kneeling against one of the window seats for the sake of all the little light she could command from it. Brienne, roused from her sleep by the agitated scratching of the girl’s instrument, watched her sister for a few minutes with silent anxiety, observing how like her mother she looked; quite as Catelyn had looked the morning after Ned Stark’s passing. Finally, in a tone of most considerate gentleness, Brienne started “Sansa may I ask--”

“No, Brienne,” she replied, “ask nothing, you will soon know all.”

She was calm, determined, much changed in Brienne’s observation from the sister who had so impatiently awaited acknowledgment in their recent history. Brienne paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power, believing it more than probable that this changeling girl was writing for the last time to Ramsay. After finishing her letter, Sansa dressed and left the room, wandering the house restlessly until breakfast, avoiding the sight of everyone, as if grieving in solitude.

Brienne lay alone when Sansa was gone, contemplating what might take place next. She briefly stroked the binding of her book, the rough texture of the canvas a comfort to her fingertips. Finally, she pushed away the bed coverings and made ready for the day.

The Blackfish was late downstairs, delaying breakfast. When he finally came down, Sansa neither ate nor attempted to eat anything. Brienne’s attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in pitying her, nor in appearing to even look at her, but in endeavoring to engage Ser Brynden’s notice entirely to herself. 

As their breakfast had gone late, it was just visiting hours when they moved to settle in the sitting room, when a letter was delivered to Sansa, which she eagerly caught from the servant before leaving the room without a word. The Blackfish saw the letter exit and chuckled, “Upon my word, I never saw a girl so determined in my life, Miss Stark! My daughter was nothing to her. But Miss Sansa seems quite altered these last few days. I hope he doesn’t keep her waiting much longer. Do you know whether they’ve set a date yet?”

Brienne’s pen froze, and she squared her shoulders at the Blackfish. “I beg, Ser, that you not deceive yourself any longer. I assure you that nothing would surprise me more than to hear of their going to be married.”

“Please, Miss Stark. Do you think your own slyness precludes anyone else from having any senses? I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so long. Lysa and I both have talked of it!”

“Indeed, Ser, you are mistaken.” Ser Brynden chuckled again, and Brienne stood to her full height, abandoning her letter. “You do a very unkind thing in spreading this report Ser, and you will find that you have, though you do not believe me now.” He sobered as Brienne stood over him. Brienne had not the spirit to say more just then, though were Ser Brynden not their host, she might have felt driven to intimidate him to silence further. Yet she was eager to know how Sansa did and hurried instead to their room. 

Upon opening the door, Brienne found Sansa curled on her knees by the fire, staring into the flames, parchment grasped tightly in her pale hand. Brienne drew near, but without saying a word, and seated herself beside her on the rug. She took her sister’s hand affectionately, silently coaxing her from her transfixed state. Sansa responded with a deep breath, as if emerging from her trance, looked up at her sister, and then placed two now-slightly pleated sheets into her hands. 

“Here,” she said, her voice cracking like the logs on the hearth. “These are the only ones I’ve not yet burnt.” Brienne noticed then, the poker was posed upright, angling out from the flames, turning red-hot, the remnants of the other letters little more than ash at its base. Brienne sat back and curled her legs under her skirts, and began to read, Sansa’s expression softening as she curled up and laid her head on her older sister’s knee, as she had not done in some years. 

> _ Dear Madam,   
_ _ I have just received your letter, for which I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am concerned to find there was anything in my behavior last night that did not meet your approbation; and though I cannot discern how I may have offended you, I assure you any trespass on my part was unintentional. I shall never fail to reflect on my former acquaintance with your family in the Riverlands with pleasure, especially at every opportunity I am afforded to be again in the country with my favorite girls. My esteem for your whole family is very sincere, but if I have given rise to a belief of more than I felt, then I pity your misunderstanding me and shall reproach myself for not curbing my attention sooner. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have long been engaged elsewhere, and it will not be much longer, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled. At your command, I return the letters with which I have been honored by you, as well as the lock of your hair, with which you so obliged me. Know that I will always cherish your name dear madam.   
_ _ Your Humble Servant,   
_ _ Ramsay Snow _

In her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the very different mind of a very different person, who had no other connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with every thing that passed, Brienne forgot the immediate discomfort of her sister, forgot that there was a letter yet unread in her hand, and so entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that she was astonished when the bells of the sept rang but once, decrying a much later hour than she might have imagined. 

She stroked Sansa’s shoulder. “Dearest… I will not pretend to understand some of this... How can he…” in her anger and desire to cut him down, she failed to form adequate thoughts.

“Poor Brienne! How unhappy I make you!”

“Sansa, it is not on yourself that I place any blame for my current feelings.”

“How can you not, Brienne? You, who have no occasion to be as unhappy as I, and who never shall...happy Brienne!”

“Do you call _ me _ happy, Sansa!” How can you believe me to be so when you are so dispirited?”

Sansa sat up and threw her arms about her sister in a fit of exertion which Brienne had not seen in her for some days. “Forgive me, Brienne. I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are - you must be happy. Jaime loves you - what can do away with such happiness as that?”

Brienne’s heart twinged at that name which she had avoided, which she had scarce whispered to her heart, let alone said aloud these few weeks. “Many, many circumstances,” said Brienne solemnly. 

“No!” cried Sansa wildly, “He loves you and only you. He is good and kind and not cruel. You can have no grief.”

“Sansa - please, I must know, are you not a little gladened now to know the truth of Ramsay’s character and to have no doubt of it? Much as you seem to suffer now dearest, think of what you would have suffered had you engagement carried on for--”

“Engagement!” Sansa interrupted with a mirthless laugh, “there has been no engagement. He has broken no faith with me, not truly.”

“But Sansa--”

“It was every day implied, I know. Brienne, I thought that I could succeed where other women had not; I thought that I was different, truly he made me feel as if I were… that he would not…” she looked away, her brow clouding again. 

“Sansa, I don’t understand.”

“Brienne, it has been long known to me, ever since that day he escorted me to see his aunt's estate, to be precise, that Ramsay was not like other men of our acquaintance. I thought him wildly romantic the way that he carried on about me, the way he-- he is no saint, Brienne.”

“I know that for a certainty.”

“He has pursued other women before, and he had his heart broken each time, or so he told me. Don’t you remember his dogs, Brienne? Do you not recall him calling them each to heel by name?”

“Sansa---”

“They were each named for women he had been in love with, he said...his favorite girls. Though I suspect now…” She looked up at Brienne, grasping her forearms as if to keep her from jumping up. Brienne’s blood boiled, remembering that same phrase from his letter. The thought that he might now include her sister in that list… her palm itched and she struggled to keep her composure. 

“You suspected--”

“I didn’t… then. But now…”

Brienne shuddered. “Sansa did he--”

“No, Brienne, no. That morning when you all came back I-- he was leaving and still I could not consent to--but…”

“All this time, and still you wrote to him?”

Sansa nodded. “I was foolish. But no more.” She gestured at the second letter in Brienne’s hands. Brienne tore her eyes from her younger sister, and read:

> _What am I to imagine, Mr. Snow, by your behavior? A mere misunderstanding, or something darker at work, I ask. I had been prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally produced. But I was repulsed indeed. I can no longer endeavor to excuse a conduct, not limited to yesterday’s encounter, which can scarcely be called anything less than insulting. I cannot believe that your regard for me was ever sincere, no more than it was for any of your other girls. It is clear that your behavior was intended only to deceive and seduce, and it is indeed fortunate for you that you have thrown your lot in with another, else I would not hesitate to drag your name through the streets. It is for the sake of your companion that I write to you now; it is for your own sake that you heed my request. Be so good as to return my correspondence, and the lock of my hair of which you availed yourself in the fall. If you do, then you may trust that your name will never again leave my pen._
> 
> _SS_

Sansa, seeing that Brienne had finished reading and was now musing over these last words again, leaned forward and took both of the letters from her. 

Brienne watched her, seeing the young woman in a new light. Who, she wondered, was this girl who had now become an elegant woman who made veiled threats via the post? She could not believe that she could have ever been willing to part with her for someone as ill-equipped to handle her as Ramsay Snow. Her thoughts flew to Jeyne Poole. 

“His companion--”

“Should be warned,” finished Sansa, “but I cannot do it. She would never believe me, and he will I am sure, convince her otherwise regardless.”

“You may be right.”

Sansa could see Brienne fidgeting. “Dearest do not fret on my account. I believe I am at peace with this, I am only sorry that I caused you to worry. But…”

“What would you have me do, Sansa?” Brienne was ready to run, fight, drag that man through the neighborhood by his collar, and demand a public execution. But then her sister grew teary, the sight of which tugged at Brienne’s own heart. 

“Brienne, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Cannot we be gone tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, Sansa! Impossible.” If we left tomorrow, she thought, I would not have adequate time to find Ramsay and destroy him. “Ser Brynden will not be able to manage a hasty removal.”

“Well then soon, Brienne. Please. I cannot stay to endure questions and remarks and pity of all these people.”

Brienne did think it best that they be gone soon, though she hated to leave and have no opportunity to cut the man down personally. 

* * *

When Ser Brynden returned from his afternoon calls, Brienne finally left Sansa, asleep across the foot of the bed with her hair fanned out about her. Their host was in the drawing-room, pacing near the hearth when she entered, his attitude wholly different from their conversation of that morning. 

“How is she, Miss Stark?” And then immediately, “It is but too true. He is to be married very soon, the good-for-nothing fellow. Mr. Tyrell told me of it half an hour ago, and he was told it by his daughter who is apparently a particular friend of Miss Poole herself, else I might not have believed it."

Brienne stepped into the conversation with caution, not wishing to speak of either Sansa or Miss Poole, "And have you heard when he expects to settle at Drefort, Ser?"

The older man shook his head, "His aunt is still in excellent health, Miss Stark, and shows no signs of giving it up anytime soon." He lowered his voice, "I believe that cad couldn't wait to supplement his income any longer. Probably he's looking to make repairs and fit up his own place - the one he was hoping to be giving up soon."

This was the first Brienne was hearing of Ramsay Snow's estate in the Vale needing attention. "Does he not maintain his property, Ser?"

Ser Brynden smiled kindly, "It's an older estate, Miss Stark, and there was a monstrous fire there some years back, which made parts of the house unlivable. That's part of the reason he spends so much of the year in the Riverlands. But now this Miss Poole--"

"--he marries at a profit, then." Brienne shuddered at the thought of Ramsay keeping Sansa in an ashen fire-gutted room like one of his dogs and thanked the gods that she had been spared that fate. With any luck, Jeyne Poole would have the good sense to insist on seeing the place before purchasing it with her dowry.

Ser Brynden looked apologetic. "I swear Miss Stark, if I ever meet him again, I shall give him such a dressing down for his use of my relation. But there is one comfort, that he is not the only young man in the world worth having you know, and with her pretty face she will never want for admirers.”

Brienne began to respond, only for Ser Brynen to burst forth again: "Well, tis a true saying about an ill wind, for it will be all the better for Colonel Casterly, do not you think? I hope he comes tonight so that he might learn the news. It will be all to one a better match for your sister."

"I think," Brienne drawled, "we shall be alright with or without the Colonel, Ser Brynden. The fewer visitors now the better."

"The Colonel is always the best sort of visitor though, Miss Stark. His manners have always been excellent. In the breeding, I suppose." He mused for a moment, then continued, "Bit of drama in his family as you know - his father wants naught to do with him. But then perhaps he does seem to benefit from not having familial obligations and so, too, would Miss Sansa. He only ever sees his brother, but then you'd know more on that account than I, I think. He gets on in our circles at least perhaps having your sister on his arm would open up more doors for him. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can. If we can but put Snow out of her head...but ah - a glass of Dornish should do the trick, should it not, Miss Stark?"

This discourse had dizzied Brienne, and Ser Brynden was pouring the bloody substance before she could begin to interject, or even pause to understand his ramblings about Tyrion's family.

"I find that Dornish red does one more good than any thing else in the world - from healing colicky gout to reducing hysteria, to mending a broken heart." He held it out to her. "Do take it to your sister."

Brienne smiled. She did justice to the man's kindnesses, though its effusions could be ridiculous and at times border on distressing. "My dear Ser," she began, "how good you are! But I have just left Sansa in bed and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me leave, I will drink this myself."

Ser Brynden, though regretting that he could not be of use to his young relation in this, was satisfied with the compromise; and Brienne, as she swallowed the chief of it, reflected that though its effects on colicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing powers on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself as on her sister. For though Sansa's distress might have an end, with or without Colonel Casterly and his myriad familial difficulties, Brienne saw no light in the darkness for herself beyond the reflection of the hearth in her cup, and in the possibility that Ser Brynden might give her some considerate solitude before supper. 


	17. Chapter 17

Colonel Casterly came in while Brienne and Ser Brynden were finishing tea, and by his manner of looking round the room, Brienne immediately fancied that he neither expected, nor wished to see Sansa there, and in short, that he was already aware of what occasioned her absence. Ser Brynden was not struck by the same thought. He greeted Tyrion warmly enough, and then made up some errand to take him from the room, leaving Brienne and Tyrion with the housemaid clearing the service, but not before pausing before Brienne to say “The Colonel looks grave as ever, Miss Stark. Do tell him the news. I leave it to your sense.”

Tyrion watched his host go, and then looked frankly at Brienne, almost causing her to laugh aloud at the Blackfish’s conspicuousness. He drew a chair close to her place on the sofa and, with a look that perfectly assured her of his good information, inquired, “Is there is more truth in what I’ve heard than I initially believed, Miss Stark?”

Brienne raised her eyebrows and then drew them together, concerned that Sansa’s name might be in the mouths of strangers. “Do you mean Mr. Snow’s marriage with Miss Poole?” Her friend nodded. “Yes, we know it too. Where did you hear it?”

“In a shop where I had business. Two ladies were waiting for their carriage by the door, and one of them was giving the other an account of the intended match, in a voice so little attempting concealment, that it was impossible not to hear all. The name of Snow might have been nothing, but the repeated assertion of Mr. Ramsay before it was undeniable. And one thing also served to identify the man still more - as soon as the ceremony was over, they were to remove to Harren Hall, the estate he acquired in the Vale. It would be impossible to describe what I felt and thought on hearing this news.” He considered her expression seriously. “Miss Stark, your sister - how did she receive it?”

Brienne sighed in semi-relief. “Till yesterday I did not think that she doubted his regard, but I have learned that she did question his past, and only hoped that she might --” She paused, careful not to tread on Tyrion’s feelings, “I think she thought to save him from himself somehow. But that does not matter now. She appears to have a hardness of heart where he is concerned now, but I know my sister. She thinks herself central in a fairy-tale at times. If she could acquit him of his deceit and ride on to his castle with him, she would. Thankfully, no evidence has been presented in his favor. I wish I could be more certain of the depths of his dishonesty, that I might help encourage her dismissal of him, but I am afraid we do not know much more of him than our short acquaintance permitted.”

Tyrion made no answer, only nodding to himself and looking toward the hearth which seemed to grow brighter as the sun faded from the windows. And throughout supper, Brienne imagined him more serious and thoughtful than usual. 

* * *

From a night of more sleep than she or her sister had expected, Sansa awoke the next morning to the same consciousness of misery in which she had closed her eyes for here, still, was the unfamiliar bed, there the unfamiliar curtains, and beyond the door the omnipresence of Ser Brynden’s aggravating good cheer. She missed her mother, even her younger sister. She missed being anywhere but this cramped city with its too-close neighbors. She had the good grace to appear at breakfast, but she did not remain below stairs for long after. 

With a letter in his outstretched hand, and countenance gaily smiling from the persuasion of bringing comfort, Ser Brynden addressed the girls from the door to their room. “Now, my dear Miss Sansa, I bring you something that I am sure will do you good.”

In one moment Sansa’s imagination placed before her a letter from Ramsay, full of tenderness and contrition, and without real thought, she was on her feet ready to snatch the letter away and, despite what Brienne might imagine her feelings to be, drop it into the fire, so far gone was her affection for him. But the work of one moment was destroyed by the next. The handwriting of her mother, never till then her heart’s desire, was before her, and the acuteness of the desperation which followed such virulent rage, she felt as if, till that instant, she had never suffered. All her impatience to be at home again now returned, though if she were honest with herself it was not to Riverrun she wished to go - not to that place that held the memory of the abbreviated life of her foolish romance, but to Winterfell where she had last been happy and surrounded by those she loved, without the cloud of artifice in his shape. Her mother was dearer to her than ever, dearer though the very impetus of her writing had been Brienne’s application to entreat from Sansa greater openness towards them both, this with such tenderness and conviction that Sansa wept with agony, wildly urgent to be gone.

Brienne, unable to determine if Sansa would be better off in King’s Landing or at Riverrun, or some other place where Catelyn might meet them, obtained her sister’s consent that they wait until her mother’s opinion on the matter to be known. 

Ser Brynden left them earlier than usual, and Sansa, who had joined Brienne downstairs following her cousin’s departure remained fixed at the table where Brienne wrote to Catelyn, watching the advancement of her pen, grieving for the effect such a letter would have on her mother, allowing even for a small inward smile for Arya who, upon hearing the news, would very likely imagine Ramsay into irons and off the plank. 

In this manner, they continued for about a quarter of an hour when they were startled by a rap at the door. Sansa went to the window and confirmed it with some resign to be Colonel Casterly, back as if he’d never left. “We are never safe from him,” she declared.“A man who has nothing to do with his own time has no conscience in his intrusion on that of others.” With this, she quit the room at least a little more in spirits than she had entered it. Brienne was thankful for Sansa’s improved mood but, when she saw Tyrion’s anxious and melancholy look, she could not forgive her sister for esteeming him so lightly.

“I met Ser Brynden in the street,” said he after the first salutation, “and he suggested I come hither without him.” He gestured at her materials, “I hope I do not interrupt you.” 

She folded her finished letter. “Not at all. I only need to see this into the footman’s hands, and I will be at my leisure.” She stood and rang for a servant, and after a moment was able to give Tyrion her full attention.

He sighed. “I would not intrude, I assure you, nothing but an earnest desire to be useful… I think I am justified - Brienne, I would like to… no, I must relay--”

Brienne startled. Friends they had been, but never before could she recall his using her given name, even privately. She recognized the seriousness of his countenance and tone, and at once understood that this must be a continuation of last evening’s distress. 

He saw her alarm. “Miss Stark, forgive me.”

She stood and crossed to the sofa where he sat, placing herself beside him, “No! That is, there is nothing to forgive. I think I understand,” she said, “you have something to tell me of Mr. Snow, I think. Something that will open his character further, something from which we may only gain from hearing, please--” she was excited now, “please, Tyrion.”

He nodded, sighing, “You will find me an awkward narrator, Miss Stark; I hardly know where to begin.” He stopped a moment for recollection and then, with another sigh, went on, “No doubt... that is, I understand that you know something of my relationship with my father.”

She hesitated, thinking, “Ser Brynden did, I think, mention some difficulty in your family, yes.”

Tyrion looked a little surprised but continued. “There was a lady I once knew. She was a cousin, an orphan from her infancy, and my father's ward. We were of an age and were raised together in almost every way. I cannot remember the time when I did not love Tysha. We were both nine years old when my dear mother passed bringing my siblings into the world. And though I loved them, I was acutely aware that my love for her was different. And her’s for me was, I believe, as fervent as the attachment of your sister to Mr. Snow has been, and it was, though from a different cause, no less unfortunate.”

Tyrion rubbed his eyes distractedly. 

“At seventeen she was lost to me forever. She was married - married against her inclination - to my father.”

Brienne must have made a sound of alarm for Tyrion looked up at her, his weary eyes worried, and clasped her hand, but whether that was to support her or lean on her for strength was unclear. “We were going to run away together. But my sister, her mind poisoned by my father from an early age, revealed our plans to him. He has blamed me all my life for weakening my mother, and when she died he hated me even more. He had no regard for Tysha but in doing this, he exacted his revenge on me. Her fortune was large and despite what people may think, despite current appearances, our family’s property was much encumbered at the time. His pleasures were not what they ought to have been."

Brienne cringed. She had heard of such arrangements. Silently she thanked the gods that her family had no fortune to part with, nothing to motivate undeserving men to commit her sisters to a life of despair. 

"I hoped - foolishly - that her regard for me might support her under any difficulty, but the consequence of my father on a mind so young and so inexperienced as hers was but too natural. She resigned herself to her misery, as did I. To my eternal shame, I quit the country, removing from them in the interest of everyone's happiness, but perhaps especially, selfishly, my own. The shock of her marriage, though, was nothing to what I felt when I heard two years after that my father had quietly had said marriage annulled. I might not have heard it but my dear brother, who was but eleven at the time, defied our father’s wishes and wrote to me.” Tyrion paused and smiled softly at Brienne, lowering her hands, earnestly, “He has always been the most thoughtful--”

He rose hastily and began pacing the room. Brienne, affected by his story, could not speak. Eventually, he returned to his seat, no less melancholy. “It was another three years after this unhappy period before I was discharged and returned to Westeros. My first care when I arrived was to seek for her, but she could not be found. Her legal allowance was not adequate to her fortune, nor sufficient for her comfortable maintenance, and my father, when I confronted him, suggested that her extravagance had caused her to outlive her means, but that was a despicable excuse for his actions in all but robbing her of her inheritance. Some six months later, I found her.”

His voice broke, and now Brienne reached out to comfort him.

“She was, to all appearance, in the last stages of shaking sickness. Life could do nothing for her, beyond giving time for better preparation for her death. To whatever credit I am allowed, that was given. I saw her placed in comfortable lodgings, with the best maesters, and the best dreamwine. I visited with her every day during the rest of her short life. How could I do anything else?”

Brienne could see the tears forming in his eyes, and spoke her feelings in an exclamation of tender concern at the fate of his unfortunate friend. 

“Your sister, I hope, cannot be offended,” said he, “by the resemblance I have all this time fancied between her and my poor cousin. But their fates, their fortunes cannot be the same…Yet to what does this all lead? I promise I would not distress you for nothing. This is a subject I have broached with few in the last fourteen years, I promise I shall try to be more concise. 

Brienne assured him that she was not under undue distress and urged him to continue. 

“Tysha left to my care her only child, a little girl, offspring of her first guilty connection, who was then about two years old. She had been very precious to her mother, and perhaps only that affection had protected the girl from the mother’s illness. I saw the girl into capable hands and eventually to school. I would have discharged this precious trust myself by watching over her and her education, but I had already parted ways with my father and had no home of my own as yet. I saw little Tysha whenever I could, and once I secured my own estate about five years ago, she visited me there often. I called her a distant relation, but I am well aware that I have generally been suspected of a much nearer connection with her - truly, Brienne, if you saw her I think you would know immediately that I am not so fortunate to be the true father of that beautiful girl. She has--” 

He stopped as if catching himself in the midst of telling an unintended secret. Brienne looked away as if to not insist on whatever details he wished to conceal for now.

His expression turned sadder. “Three years ago I removed her from school and placed her with a very respectable woman who had charge of a handful of other similarly-aged girls. She had just had her sixteenth nameday when she suddenly disappeared. She had, with my permission, gone to Maidenpool with one of her friends who was attending her father there for his health and - I knew him to be a good sort of man but I did not realize that he had been generally confined to the house. I gave his daughter more credit than she deserved. The girls were ranging all over the town, making friends with the stranger himself. I could learn nothing but that she was gone; all the rest, for seven long months, was left to conjecture.”

He chanced a glance at Brienne who was giving him every ounce of her attention. Catching his eye, she nearly lost all sense, “Good gods, Tyrion - do you mean…” Could Ramsay be even more despicable than Sansa had lead her to believe? 

“The first news that reached me of her,” he continued, “came in a letter from herself, which was forwarded to me at Riverrun, arriving the morning of our picnic. Only Lord Edmure knew anything of the situation; I’m sure my sudden departure was strange to some and, I believe, gave offense to one. Little did Mr. Snow imagine, I suppose, when his looks censured me for incivility, that I was called away to the relief of one, whom he had made poor and miserable. He had left the girl whose youth and innocence he had seduced, in a situation of the utmost distress with no help, no friends, and ignorant of his address. He left her in Flea Bottom to whence he had absconded with her, and left her with nothing.”

“This is beyond everything,” replied Brienne in a fierce whisper. 

“His character is now before you, Brienne. Only imagine how helpless I felt when I was assured that your sister would marry this animal. Now you may comprehend my behavior. To suffer you all to be so deceived... but what could I do? 

Brienne’s thanks followed with grateful earnestness; attended too with the assurance of her expecting material advantage to Sansa, from the communication of what had passed. “At first she will suffer a little I think, to revisit her blindness where he is concerned, but I am sure she will soon become easier.”

“I need not say, perhaps, that none of this is public. You are now part of a very small circle of knowledge, but I hope that your family may trust my word in this and, should you have any doubt, you might of course apply to my brother, who will most assuredly support this information. He was my second at my only meeting with Mr. Snow since finding him out.”

  
Brienne startled at this and looked at him anxiously. “What, have you met him to…” Brienne could imagine just then holding the point of a sword against Ramsay’s neck herself. 

“I could meet him no other way. She confessed the name of her lover quite reluctantly, but when he returned to town we met by appointment. We returned unwounded, and the meeting therefore never got abroad.”

“Would that I had been there with you,” quipped Brienne, “he might not have left the field.”

“I can only hope, Brienne, that you never have such cause.”

Brienne sighed. “Is she still in town?”

“No, as soon as she recovered from her lying in, I removed her and the child into the country. I had to be back in town on business right away, so I charged Jaime with overseeing things there until she was settled with the additional staff. I am determined that she and the babe will want for nothing.”

Brienne’s heart leapt into her throat and could not suppress itself, “Jaime?”

“My brother.” His eyes widened. “Gods, I was certain you knew!”

Her head swam as the pieces of his tale fell into place. Of course, Tyrion was the very brother Jaime had spoken of. And Robert’s wife - yes, the cruel sister who fell in line with her father’s wishes. Jaime had traveled east perhaps not just to see Mrs. Blackwood and his goddaughter, but to visit his brother, to aid him. And Jaime had been present - suffered another duel to--- All this time there had been something comforting and familiar about Tyrion, but… “But Casterly--” she blurted.

“--is an old family joke, just like me. I styled myself as such when I purchased my commission because I didn't want the shadow of my father's exploits over me. But I was born Tyrion Lannister. Lord Tywin Lannister is my father.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've relied heavily on Jane Austen for the order of operations as well as text & language. Truly, much of this is unoriginal - I bow down to her.


End file.
